


voice on the wind

by CapriciousCrab



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Fae Phil Lester, Faustian Bargain, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pianist Dan Howell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousCrab/pseuds/CapriciousCrab
Summary: A life-changing injury leaves a desperate musician looking for a miracle. He finds it in the company of a Fae muse, but at what cost?





	1. Be not afraid, come follow me

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of three

 

**Earrach**

 

Springtime in Ireland is lush, the generous rainfall and temperate weather creating a land full of beautiful, verdant valleys and rolling hills blanketed in shades of green both soft and vibrant. The forest path leading the way to the fairy circle is decorated with wood sorrel, the delicate white flowers perfuming the air as they dance in the breeze. He's tempted to stop; to look and breathe and taste the beauty that surrounded him but he presses on, terrified that he'll lose his nerve.

 

For legends say that if you climb to the top of Cnoc Meadha and sing, one of the Fae folk will appear to grant you a wish.

 

The walk to the circle had been silent and disquieting, with none of the usual forest noises to compete with the sound of his footsteps disturbing the overgrown path beneath his feet. Dan feels his shoulders give an uneasy twitch as the overwhelming feeling of being watched increases as he climbs, causing him to move faster until he bursts from the trees in an anxious rush of movement.

 

He can feel embarrassment stain his cheeks as he walks into the ring, his despair warring with his disbelief as he trails his hands along the stone burial mound at the center before gingerly seating himself on the ground. He never imagined he would be here, sitting at the top of an ancient mound and singing out into a chilly Spring morning. But he's reached the point of desperation and desperate people will believe in anything.

 

So he sings.

 

Dan had fled here to County Galway months ago to get away. Away from the doctors and therapists, the surgeons and specialists who had all told him the same thing.

 

_“I'm sorry Mr. Howell, but the loss of dexterity is permanent. There's nothing more to be done.”_

 

Loss of dexterity. Three simple words that arrow straight into his heart, causing a bleeding wound that nothing can heal. Neither money nor time will ever erase the thick scar tissue marring his fingers, bisecting the tendons and leaving his fingers clumsy and slow. A type of injury that would be devastating to anyone, it's completely shattered his world. For he was a musician.

 

A famed concert pianist once renowned for his brilliant talent and lightning-fast fingers now sits on a lonely hill in Ireland singing for a miracle. It's ludicrous, it's humiliating, but still, he sings with his voice trembling with sorrow and a weak hope. After all, the villagers in the pub had said one would come.

 

“Oh aye, 'tis sure to bring one of the Bright Ones to you. They love singin', they do.”

 

The elderly gentleman had looked around cautiously as if expecting to see something manifest out of the dust motes dancing there in the sunlight.“But it's best to be careful, lad. The Fae don't always play fair.”

 

He pulls his legs up now and rests his forehead on his knees, tears prickling behind his eyes. Dan doesn't care about being careful, and he doesn't care about playing fair. All he knows is that he misses the feel of the piano keys beneath his fingers, cool and soothing. He misses the way he could make the music soar and longs for that feeling of transcendent joy it once brought to him. Nothing else has ever compared to what music has been able to make him feel and the loss of it is a gaping hole in his soul. So though he doesn't truly believe, he whispers out a quiet plea...

 

“ _please_ ”

 

The sound of gentle footsteps has him snapping his head up and scrambling to his feet, mortified that someone may have heard him. Hastily wiping stray tears from his face, Dan turns to face whoever had come up behind him and stills completely as if frozen. His breath catches in his throat as he stares at the man walking towards him, the rising sun surrounding him in a golden glow.

 

Tall with a lean and elegant build, his long limbs move with preternatural grace. Glossy black hair is swept back from his forehead before falling to his shoulders as his pale skin glimmers like stardust. It's a cold and terrifying type of beauty, untouchable and nearly too perfect to be human. Dan looks into eyes silvery-blue and devoid of humanity and feels the hair on the nape of his neck rising in fear.

 

The man comes to a stop in front of him and looks him over with the same avid gaze he imagines a predator would cast upon a tasty morsel offered up for his enjoyment. Dan's poised to run, ready to spin on his heels and sprint away, ingrained primitive instincts warning him to flee when the man opens his perfect mouth and speaks.

 

“ _Dia duit dathúil._ ”

 

The words pour over his ears like honey; smooth and viscous and hypnotic. Dan finds himself relaxing at the sound, his tense muscles going lax and mind swimming pleasantly. He feels flushed and wine-drunk though he hasn't had a drop to drink. As he stares at the stranger watching him, he lets out a daft little giggle that startles him into a brief moment of clarity. But then he's swaying forward, stretching his arms out as if to draw him into his embrace and frowns when the man's eyes widen in dismay. He hears himself let out a discontented whine when the stranger takes first one and then another step backward, increasing the distance between them.

 

~

 

Year after decade after century they come, burdening Phil with their despair and their need. Some cry or beg for his help, caring little for the consequences, and he gives them what they desire. But he also takes and it's the taking and the grief that's left behind that wears at his soul, what little there is left of it.

 

He longs for solitude. To be alone with his books, to tend his plants, and live a quiet life that causes no pain, no heartache.

 

Phil knows he's unlike the others of his kind, incapable of the casual cruelties he sees the other Fae hand out so easily. He's never felt the compulsion to play with the humans or the desire to coerce them into a binding contract, much preferring his solitude and peace, which marks him as an outcast even among his own kind.

 

That's not to say that he hasn't had his own transactions with the humans who call out for him, for his Fae nature requires him to feed. But he refuses to make sport of these poor souls who sing for him out of desperation and that often earns him the ire of the Unseelie.

 

As one of Dark Fae, Phil himself is of the Unseelie Court. A rare male Leanan Sidhe, he is a fairy-muse to the poets, musicians, and artists. And if he takes them as his lover, he can give them back all the passion and inspiration that has gone missing from their creations. In return, unbeknownst to them, Phil sips from the well of their emotions until they run the risk of sickening or going mad. Unfair perhaps, but his magic is bound by the give and take nature of his race. Nothing is freely given, no favor ever done without return, and the consequences are often severe for those who are unwise enough to deal with the Fae.

 

It's only his own sense of sweeping loneliness that makes Phil respond to the man he can hear singing to him from atop the fairy mound. He hasn't answered a human's song in over a century but this voice calls to him, beckoning him forward with a bittersweet and forlorn medley of sorrow that he is unable to ignore. He feels drawn to this person in ways he has never felt before, and that intrigues him, so he follows the sound of that tempting voice and allows himself to materialize a slight distance behind the figure on the ground.

 

The sound of his footsteps brings the man to his feet as he whirls around to face him. Wide brown eyes look out at him from a prettily handsome face, tears still caught on his thick lashes. He's a young man, tall and sturdy, and everything about him from his head full of dark-brown waves to his delightfully long legs is appealing.

 

Oh, he'll do nicely, he thinks, as he steps closer to the man watching him. He looks tense and afraid, ready to bolt at the slightest movement and Phil realizes he's been looking at him as if he were going to gobble him up in one giant bite.

 

He attempts to put the wary man at ease by speaking to him, the Gaelic falling from his lips effortlessly.

 

“ _Dia duit dathúil_.”

 

Phil can see the tension easing from the young man's body as his eyes go soft and dreamy. He cocks his head, confused by the rapid change until he hears the soft giggle and watches as the man reaches out to pull him closer. Phil's eyes widen, and he takes a step back in an effort to create a bit more distance between them.

 

His thrice-cursed glamour!

 

He'd forgotten the impact it tended to have on humans, the way they became malleable and complacent and ready for manipulation. An inherent part of his magic, it was something Phil hated with a fiery intensity but could do nothing about other than dampen its effect. He much prefers enticing his chosen one with his own charms, not with magic that nullifies consent.

 

He takes another step back and watches as the eyes of the man clear and sharpen. He looks slightly befuddled as he shakes his head, his face a picture of confusion. Phil doesn't want him growing afraid again, so he offers his greeting again, this time in English.

 

“Good morning, handsome,” he says, walking a bit closer now that he has his glamour under control. He stops and offers a smile, gentle and easy as he continues “Beautiful sunrise, isn't it?”

 

He holds his hand out in greeting, “My name is Pilib, but you can call me Phil.”

 

~

 

Dan shakes his head as the muzzy feeling begins to clear and flushes, embarrassed by his reaction and unable to explain it. He watches as the man once again steps toward him but neither the fear nor the muddled feeling return. All that remains now is a feeling of expectation filling his chest, making his heart race and his hands tremble.

 

Dan eyes him with suspicion before offering his own hand to shake, shivering slightly at the contact. Phil's hands are slender and pale, with long elegant fingers that wrap around the back of Dan's hand.

 

“I'm Dan. Daniel Howell”

 

“Hello, Daniel. What brings you to _Cnoc Meadha_ so early in the morning?” His fingers caress Dan's as he pulls his hand away, cool fingertips grazing over the lumpy scars. It makes his stomach turn, the thought of this perfect man touching those scars he so despises, so he tucks his hands into his pockets.

 

He feels awkward and clumsy around this too-perfect man. His cheeks are still hot with his blush when he recalls just how he reached his arms out to embrace this stranger, and suddenly he wants to sink into the earth, never to be seen again.

 

He stares until Phil clears his throat, finding himself mesmerized once again before looking at the ground.

 

“Oh, I was just... singing.”

 

“Singing?” Phil repeats, head tilted in question. “ Do you believe in the old stories then? About the Fae that grant wishes and such?

 

“I-I want to believe. The villagers said one would come if I sang. And I need... I need...” his voice dies off as he stares at this strange, otherworldly man in front of him.

 

Phil moves closer then, close enough that the tip of his boots brushes the toes of Dan's trainers. They're standing much too close for strangers to stand but Dan can't be bothered to move. There is something compelling about this man, something almost hypnotic. He is astoundingly handsome, no question, but there's something more than that. It's a pull, visceral and hot, that Dan can feel tugging in his abdomen. Something that speaks of hot nights and sweaty skin and surely this is just entirely too odd for him to understand.

 

“What do you need, Daniel?” Phil raises his hand to Dan's face, resting those long, cool fingers against Dan's cheek. “Tell me what you need.”

 

And suddenly Dan is spilling out the entire story; about the car accident and his damaged hands, the way he had put them up to shield his face. How those hands had gone through the glass, slicing his fingers into ribbons, ribbons that can never again be patched up. He weeps when he mentions his music, the longing to play, how the inability eats at his heart and soul until he feels like a shell of himself.

 

All while Phil stands there silent, his hand still cupping Dan's cheek as if he were some long-lost lover. Nothing makes sense, but Dan doesn't think to question it as he cries out his sorrow into the still, morning air. He hiccups when he reaches the end of his story, looking into those eyes watching him so intently.

 

“So they told me to sing and then a fairy would come. That they would help me.”

 

Phil takes a step back, his hand dropping from Dan's face and Dan felt a pang of... something. Disappointment? Longing? He's not sure, but his stomach knots with the intensity of it.

 

“Has anyone warned you about the Fae, Daniel?” Phil asks.

 

There's a breeze kicking up, blowing his silky black hair back from his face and stirring dust motes to dance in the sun. It's like something out a dream, and Dan wants to pinch himself to see if he was awake.

 

“They said to be careful, but I don't care. I don't! I just want to be healed,” he cries. “I'll do anything!”

 

At that Phil smiles, and it's a cold, calculating smile. Something flashes in those silvery-blue eyes, something triumphant and slightly unpleasant, but Dan won't take the words back. If Phil is Fae, if Phil can heal him, then Dan will do anything he asks.

 

~

 

Phil smiles, those three little words falling like stones in the space between them. Phil may need to feed but he refuses to act without consent. Maybe his chosen ones don't understand quite everything the bargain entails but never will it be said that Phil took without permission. But first, the bargain must be struck.

 

“So are you actually a fairy?”

 

Dan's voice spills out thick and nasal from weeping. His face is splotchy, and he rubs the back of his hand across his nose, hoping to clear the congestion. Not a pretty crier, Phil thinks absently as he contemplates this sad, hopeful wreck in front of him. Not that it mattered, of course, because Phil intends to keep him quite happy. But first, he needs to make sure this boy knows exactly who and what he is.

 

“Fairy” Phil sneers, his lips curling with disgust. “Such a tepid word for all that I am. I'm not Tinkerbell, Daniel, no soft Disney creation.”

 

He continues speaking as he let the breeze strengthen around them, watching as Dan's eyes widen in fascination and in fear.

 

“I am _Pilib Ó hIfearnáin_ of the Fae. I have lived for centuries and I hold powers that you can't even conceive of. I have watched mortals come and beg for my help only to listen to them fling insults and curses at my head when I refuse. I could crush you where you stand, or I can make you feel a pleasure you've never imagined, all without lifting a hand.”

 

The wind stills now as his voice grew soft and pleasant once more. “But I have no wish to frighten you, Daniel, and I will not harm you. But neither can I help you without an understanding between us, a pact that binds us together for a time.”

 

Dan's face is pale, lips pressed tightly together as his hands clench into fists. He looks alternately determined and terrified. Phil watches him swallow, that long throat rippling in the sun, and feels a flash of heat stirring in his groin. The brief moment of desire takes him by surprise for he hasn't felt genuine lust in decades.

 

He's startled out of his musing by Dan's soft voice, his gazing flying up to his face to where he sees that Dan has gone pink once more. He's fidgeting again, hands playing with the hem of his shirt as he studiously avoided eye contact.

 

“Is-is this a sexual thing?” he stutters out, words garbled and thick. “Is that my part of the agreement?”

 

And oh, Phil badly wants to say yes for he's no saint, after all. In fact, he's far from it, but he'll be damned before he takes advantage of someone's desperation to satisfy his own sexual needs. He would never be able to forgive himself for abusing his power in such a way, regardless of all the other things he's done throughout his long, long life.

 

“No, Daniel, sex is not part of the agreement. I will not lie, I find you very attractive” Phil's eyes move over his body slowly, once again appreciating the firm long lines of him before continuing, “Very attractive. But any sexual relationship between us would need to be entered freely by both. I have no desire to manipulate you in such a manner.”

 

He can see Dan relax at that, the tense muscles releasing along with a sigh of relief. Phil smiles again as victory beckons. It's nearly done, he just needs to get him to speak the words.

 

“So what is your answer, Daniel? Tell me what you want.”

 

Dan stares into his eyes once more as if he were trying to peer into Phil's soul. He would tell him not to bother as he had lost his years ago but Dan is speaking now, the words coming quickly as if he's afraid he might change his mind.

 

“I agree.”

 

Phil feels his magic respond, white-hot and electric as he throws his head back and laughs in triumph. He extends his arm and waits for Dan to lay his hand in his own, tugging him a bit closer. “Then the deal is made and the agreement struck. I'll come to you tonight in the place where you are staying.”

 

He drops his hand and steps back as Dan sputters in confusion.

 

“But wait, how will you know where to find me?”

 

Phil's eyes darken as he chuckles, lifting his hand in the air. “You are mine now, Daniel. I'll always be able to find you.”

 

And with the snap of his fingers, he is gone.

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dan spends the afternoon pacing around the living space of the tiny cottage he's renting, his anxiety ratcheting higher with each step. He walks to the window and brushes aside the lace curtain to stare out into the night, muscles tense with a terrified excitement. It's full dark now, the path lit by moonlight, and the evening is quiet and still. He's not sure when Phil will arrive, but he keeps watch out the window none the less.

 

He'd just... disappeared earlier, with nothing more than the snap of his fingers and with that all of Dan's doubts had vanished. The Fae were real, and Dan had entered into some kind of bargain with one. He shivers when he thinks about Phil and the hungry way he had looked at Dan.

 

“It's not sexual. He said it wasn't sexual,” he mutters to himself, walking in circles around the sofa. He's tempted to go outside and jog off some of this tension, but it's dark and he doesn't know how or where Phil will appear.

 

“Of course it's not sexual.”

 

Dan whirls around at the sound of a voice behind him and there stands the Fae. His hair is pulled away from his face and tied back with a strip of leather and his eyes gleam in the light. The angles and planes of his face are highlighted by the glow from the peat fire, and he looks beautiful in that ethereal, unnatural way of his. The otherworldly beauty made sense now that Dan knows exactly what he is.

 

“I have told you sex is not part of this arrangement. We can have sex if you desire to do so” Phil said with a smirk, eyes lighting up with an inner heat,“ but that would simply be a bonus, not a requirement.”

 

Dan can feel his face flushing at the blatant interest and at the heated look Phil sends him from beneath his lashes. He can't remember the last time he's been so tempted. He's also never been drawn to someone like this before. It's nearly magical.

 

Magical.

 

The word filter through Dan's brain and act like a dousing of ice-cold water. Of course it's magical, Phil was Fae. Was he even now trying to entice Dan into sharing himself that way, to tumble into bed?

 

Phil steps closer, a frown creasing his brow. “What's wrong, Daniel? Have I upset you with something I've said?”

 

Dan holds his hand out to prevent him from coming any closer and shakes his head. “How do I know that my thoughts and feelings are my own? I don't even know what you can do. It-it scares me!”

 

He continues, his voice growing shriller with each word that passes his lips. “I don't know what you can do, I don't know what I agreed to, I don't know what I'm doing!”

 

He's panting now with rising panic that he doesn't know how to quell, hands shaking. He's seconds from falling apart when suddenly Phil reaches into his pocket and pulls out... an amulet?

 

“Daniel, may we sit?”

 

“Oh, uh. Um, yeah sure,” he says as he slumps onto the sofa.

 

He's half-afraid Phil will join him there but instead, he waves his hand toward the kitchen. One of the heavy oaken chairs slides over, settling before Dan as Phil takes a seat. Phil holds his hand out for Dan's, waiting patiently while he frets. Dan finally reaches out and jolts a bit when Phil places the cool metal in his hand.

 

The amulet is silver and hangs from a heavy link chain. There's an ornate knot engraving and as he examines it closer he sees a tiny clasp. He uses the tip of his thumb and carefully opens the front of the locket to find bits of flowers and greenery inside. He looks up at Phil in confusion and waits.

 

Phil places his hand underneath Dan's and uses his other hand to trace over the metal.

 

“The amulet is made of silver, which is used to repel evil intentions toward you, and the carving is a Celtic shield knot which symbolizes protection.”

 

His voice is captivating, soothing, and Dan finds himself relaxing as Phil continues. “Inside the amulet, I've placed sprigs of four-leaf clovers and St. John's Wort. These work to nullify a Fae's natural glamour magic so that you can always be assured that you are acting under your own command and never mine.”

 

He's looking into Dan's eyes now and he can't help but be drawn into them, the silvery-blue radiating sincerity. He wants to believe in the amulet, but how will he ever know if it truly works? So he asks the question aloud and isn't surprised when Phil smiles and offers to demonstrate.

 

Phil continues, asking Dan to hand him back the amulet. Once he has it in hand, he looks at Dan. “I'm going to use my glamour on you, Daniel. You felt it this morning when we met, do you remember?”

 

He remembers reaching for Phil, a stranger while feeling punch-drunk. He feels a surge of anger and embarrassment at the thought of being manipulated and his brows draw together in a frown. “I remember.”

 

Phil bows his head and offers an apology. “Forgive me, Daniel, it was unintentional. Glamour is part of me, something I need to dampen so as not to affect people, and it's been so long that I've interacted with humans that I forgot. But this will allow me to prove to you that this amulet will do what as I explained.”

 

He looks into Dan's eyes then, asking “Are you ready?”

 

He's not. Oh god, he's really not. But he needs to know so he nods and suddenly his gaze is drawn to Phil and how he shimmers there in the little cottage. Dan feels loose-limbed and needy as a whine slips from his throat. He reaches out for Phil, wanting nothing more than to touch and to feel when suddenly Phil is placing something in his hand, the weight of it heavy and reassuring.

 

Like a switch being thrown, Dan is brought back to himself and sits there staring at the creature in front of him, once again frightened by what Phil can do.

 

“Holy shit”

 

~

 

It's silent inside the cottage and even the chirp of the crickets outside has ceased, as if able to sense Phil's magic flowing from within. He can nearly see Dan's fear, the electric static of it crackling in the air as he waits for him to gain control.

 

He searches his memories of some of his previous encounters with mortals, trying to think of a way to break the tension that's now growing between them. He recalls his last lover and how he would always ply Phil with food and drink whenever they spent time together.

 

“Daniel, could I trouble you for a glass of water?” he asks, watching as Dan jerks slightly at the sound of his voice. “I'm very thirsty.”

 

“Oh. Oh yeah, sure.” As Dan heads into the kitchen he calls out, speaking over his shoulder as he fills a glass with iced water, “Is it okay for you to eat and drink things here with me?”

 

Phil frowns in confusion as he tries to puzzle through Dan's question. Seeing his confusion, Dan offers him the glass as he says, “You know, you could be stuck here? Like the Persephone and Hades thing?”

 

He nearly chokes on his drink, setting the glass down on the table with a sneer. “The Greeks always did think highly of themselves. It's a tale, Daniel, one that was told by people with little understanding of the world at the time. A moving story, perhaps, but still just a story.”

 

He stands now to walk nearer to Dan, drawn to his warmth and those doe-eyes that stare at him in mingled fear and fascination. “But let's not discuss the Greeks. Let's discuss you and I, shall we?”

 

Dan shivers at his words and Phil's mouth twitched with the urge to smile. He's so tempted to just use a little glamour and sweep him away, to take him home and lay him down upon his bed and press him into the sheets. Centuries ago he might have and damned the consequences but now he finds he enjoys the seduction.

 

So he'll wait.

 

“So, uh, what did you want to talk about?” He's twitchy with nerves, scarred fingers twisting around a loose string on his jumper. “Is it about our bargain?”

 

“Mmm, yes. I think it's time we discuss the particulars, don't you?” Phil questions, genuine curiosity coloring his voice. Has that been what Dan had been thinking about it while waiting for Phil to arrive, becoming anxious and afraid? He has the errant thought that he doesn't want Dan to fear him, then frowns at himself. He mustn't get attached, he thinks, before continuing, “What do you want from me, Daniel?”

 

Dan holds his shaking hands out, palm side down so that his fingers and their scars are in full view. “I want to be able to play. I want to make music again. Please. _Please_ , can you heal me?”

 

Phil takes one of those hands into his own and looks at the thick scars, stroking them with a fingertip. “Yes, I can heal you. My magic can take this all away, can restore your hands to what they once were. Free from the scars and the pain. Are you ready?”

 

“Wait!”

 

He looks up from those damaged hands at the sound of Dan's panicked voice. “What is it? Are you frightened?”

 

Dan's face is pale, and he's biting his lip, teeth sunk deep into the flesh. He looks into Phil's eyes for a moment before he answers. “Yes. Yes, I'm scared. I'm scared it won't work and I'm scared that it will, and I'm afraid you'll want something impossible and terrible in return.”

 

“Let's put your fears to rest then, shall we?”

 

And with that Phil calls upon the magic within him, taking Dan's hands into his own once more. He can feel the familiar warmth of it filling him as a gentle breeze dances through the room. He hears Dan gasp and feels the slight tug as he reflexively tries to pull away. It's an eternity, it's a brief moment in time, and then it's done-  the fingers unmarred and whole once more.

 

The wind slows and dies, the dancing curtains becoming still once more. The silence is ponderous, with a weight that's nearly tangible as he watches Dan hold his hands up in front of his face. They're shaking badly as he turns them front, back, then front again; his eyes wide with a stupefied joy. He barely has time to examine Dan's face before he chokes out a sob.

 

Then falls to his knees in front of him.

 

~

 

He's panting, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he leans his forehead against Phil's thighs. Dan should be mortified by the suggestiveness of the pose, but his head is filled with nothing but the thought of his hands. He can't stop flexing his fingers, clenching them into tight fists before stretching them out as far as he can. There's no pain, no pulling of the scar tissue across his knuckles that used to force his hands into slight claws.

 

He's healed. As if the accident has never happened. As if the last 2 years of surgeries and therapies and treatments had blinked out of existence. He presses those hands to his lips to contain the noise that's rising in his throat and sits back on his heels, tilting his head to meet Phil's eyes.

 

Those eyes are blazing with power, a swirling shade of quicksilver that burns with an inner fire. He's a picture of savage beauty and ethereal grace and Dan feels his body light up in response. He's close enough to feel the heat of his body drawing him in and he wants, _god_ he wants to lean forward and press his lips to Phil's hard-

 

“Daniel, are you alright?”

 

Phil's question has him jolting back, a flush sweeping over his face. He's shocked at the direction of his thoughts and if he hadn't had a demonstration of the amulet, he'd think that Phil was manipulating his emotions.

 

Shoving the inappropriate surge of lust aside, he reaches up to grasp the hand Phil is holding out to him, letting him tug him to a stand. Chest to chest they stare at each other, captivated until Phil steps back and smiles.

 

He looks at him with those changeable eyes as he asks, “Are you well? How do your hands feel?”

 

Dan's not sure he has the words to describe how he feels. He wants to shout out his happiness while his mind reels with the impossibility of it all. But mostly, he wants to play. He wants to lay his fingers on the keys, stroking them with the familiarity he thought he'd never feel again, and he wants to play every piece of music he knows by heart. He wants to play for hours and days and years, determined to never again take this for granted.

 

“Phil. Phil... I don't know how I feel. It's unbelievable.” Dan lets out a watery laugh, rubbing the tears from his eyes.“It's gone-all the pain and scars and oh my god, Phil!”

 

“I want to play!” He spins away from Phil then, pacing to the kitchen and back. He's filled with restless energy, a clawing desperation for his piano at home. He wants-no, he _needs_ to play right this minute. It's been so long and if he has to wait even one more minute, he thinks he'll lose his mind completely.

 

He stops, crestfallen, as he realizes there is nothing here to play. No Blüthner grand piano, not even a basic keyboard to run his fingers across. He's not aware of the high-pitched whine emitting from his throat, but he feels the now familiar tingle of Phil's magic filling the room. He looks over to see Phil dancing his hands through the air, the movement of them slow and graceful. Dust motes shimmer in the firelight and then he feels a shift in the room, making the hair on the nape of his neck rise as he glances toward the fireplace.

 

The air punches from his lungs in a noisy exhale as he takes in the gleaming, black Steinway nestled into the corner. It sits waiting for him to use and yet he's frozen with sickening fear. He can't seem to unlock his knees, to walk across the room and sit on that glorious glossy bench and he jerks when he hears Phil's voice in his ear.

 

“Is this instrument not to your liking? I can create another.” Phil lifts his hand but Dan grabs it in his own, stilling the motion.

 

“No! No, the piano is lovely!” he says, dropping Phil's hand.

 

He looks confused, a frown on his face as he stares at Dan. It's a dark look that sits oddly on that perfect face and it makes Dan shiver and moves now to the piano. He runs his hand along the lustrous wood, tracing the curves and lines like he would a lover. He sits on the bench and rests his hands on the polished keys. From the corner of his eye, he sees Phil approach and he lifts his head when Phil sits next to him, crowding up against his side. Their thighs press together when Phil leans closer and murmurs in his ear, “Play for me, Daniel.”

 

So he does.

 

~

 

There's music in the air, crashing and leaping with a reckless abandon. It fills the little cottage and presses against the walls as if an attempt to escape out into the night. The wild tempo and trilling notes thrill him as much as watching Dan's hands move over the keys, fingers blurring as he brings the piano to life.

 

He moves his eyes to Dan's face and is struck by the fierce passion he sees there. His eyes are closed, and his teeth are sunk into his bottom lip as he sways on the bench, overcome by the music he creates. Seeing him thus, Phil realizes how Dan had come to be so desperate to find a miracle. Music seems to be as much a part of Dan as magic is to Phil and wouldn't Phil do anything to reclaim his magic should it be lost to him?

 

Lost to his ruminations, it takes a moment when he realizes that Dan has stopped playing. He turns to face Dan and is startled by how close they are. Dan has also turned to face him, and they are nearly nose to nose now, breathing in each other's breath. Once again Phil is tempted, wanting nothing more than to tip forward that last tiny inch and lay claim to Dan's lips. But sense prevails; they're strangers still, and Dan's eyes hold a flash of fear whenever he looks at him. So he'll wait to claim... but will gladly tease and entice for now.

 

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before saying, “That was lovely, Daniel. So moving and so passionate.” He rests his hand over Dan's on the keys, sliding his fingers over the back of his hand. “What is the name of the piece?”

 

He watches Dan swallow, fascinated by the movement of that lovely throat. He wants to bite and taste the flesh there, wondering if it will be as sweet as it smells. He lifts his hand to that throat, so vulnerable and soft, and glides his fingers from jaw to collar. Dan's eyes are dark now in the glow from the fire and Phil is once again filled with the desire to sweep him away from this place, to bring him to the Otherworld and ply him with only the best honeyed wines and tasty bits of food.

 

He knows some of his thoughts must be visible on his face when he feels Dan tense up next to him, so he rises from the bench and moves to the window, breathing in the night air that wafts in. He lets the desire swirling in him settle before turning back to where Dan is still sitting at the piano.

 

“It's called ' _La Campanella_ ', which means little bell in Italian. It's just a small part of a much larger piece, but it's always been my favorite.” he says shyly.

 

He's gone back to softly playing scales that flow up and down the keys as he speaks. It's pleasant and soothing, and it makes the cottage feel homely.

 

“I can't believe this is really happening, that I can play again. I don't know how I can ever thank you, Phil.”

 

“Well, Daniel, perhaps it's time we discuss that.”

 

At Phil's words the playing stops, the notes ending with an abrupt crash. He watches as Dan pulls his hands away from the piano and hides them in his lap as if afraid Phil will reverse everything on a whim.

 

“I-I'm not sure what you want in repayment but said I would do anything.” He takes a deep breath as if to steady his nerves, eyes closing briefly only to snap open again in shock when Phil answers.

 

“It's not much, really. Just a bit of your essence.”

 

“My what?!” he said, his voice a strangled rasp. Dan stands now as if ready to run or fight. “What do you mean by essence? What is the essence and what the fuck does that even mean?”

 

Phil heaves a sigh, exhausted by Dan's emotional outbursts. He hadn't realized he was such a dramatic man, but he shouldn't have been surprised. Artists, musicians, creators-all wildly emotive and given to theatrics.

 

How tiring.

 

He tries to soothe now, to put Dan at his ease without answering too many probing questions. “Essence is what the Fae call your emotional energy.” He sees Dan go deathly pale and hurries to continue. “Calm yourself, Daniel. I'm not going to hurt you.”

 

“You're taking my energy? But-but won't that kill me?” He's bordering on hysterical now, breaths coming in heavy, frightened gasps. His arms are crossed over his chest as if to shield himself, shoulders hunched in.

 

“Daniel” Phil lets his voice become dominating, deeper and more firm than usual. It works on Dan like a sedative, stilling the fidgety, fretful motions. Their eyes meet across the room and Phil watches as Dan calms further and his face relaxes.

 

“I'm not going to kill you. I would need to drain you of everything, and I have no desire to do so. Instead, I shall sip from you instead, much in the way a hummingbird sips the nectar from a flower.”

 

Dan looked away,  resigned now as if his fate were sealed. Which in fact it is; he'd set everything in motion by first calling for him, then agreeing to Phil's bargain.

 

“Will it hurt?” Dan asks fearfully. He's twisting his hands together, stroking the healed flesh for reassurance.

 

Phil steps closer now, his eyes growing dark again as his power swirls through the room. He attempts a smile and knows it's not as reassuring as he'd intended as he watches Dan swallow nervously. “No, there will be no pain. In fact, it's already done.”

 

And he can feel Dan in him now, that brief taste lighting up inside him, filling him with strength. It's been so long since he's fed and now? Now it's hard not to gorge himself on the beautiful man across from him. He'd spoken truly when he said he had no interest in draining Dan fully, but oh, the flavor of him is intoxicating!

 

He's pulled from his reverie by the sound of Dan asking, “How often? How much will you take?”

 

“I need only to come to you once a week unless you desire my company more often,” he said, his smile growing cold once more. “But best careful, Daniel. I may grow addicted to your taste.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Dan spends the next week fluctuating between overwhelming joy and a lingering fear.

 

After Phil had disappeared once again, Dan had rushed to the bathroom, terrified he'd see signs of being marked by Phil's magic. He'd stared at himself in the mirror, looking for any trace or sign of Phil's 'sipping' but nothing was amiss. No new wrinkles, no gray hair-nothing but the familiarity of his own reflection. So he does his best to put it out of his mind.

 

So he plays. Oh god, he plays until his fingers cramp and his stomach growls for food. He plays until the light goes dim and his eyes grow heavy with fatigue and he wakes with thoughts of music and magic in his head.

 

He thinks of Phil often, shivering at the thought of those moody eyes and hints of power. He both fears him and is fascinated by him, by the magic and mystery that surrounds him. He's a being of chaos and potential destruction and yet he's been gentle with Dan, never abusing his magic and even providing Dan with protection from manipulation. He's sinister, he's supernatural, he's... sexy.

 

He's playing now, Ravel's _Bolero_ spilling from the windows of his cottage to dance in the air. It's a sensuous piece, starting delicately and building to a climax that makes one think of sex. He's lost in it, eyes closed as his body sways along. He hits the crescendo and lifts his hands, the notes ringing in the room.

 

“That was lovely.”

 

He startles at the sound of Phil's voice and teeters on the edge of the bench before tumbling off to land on his back. He closes his eyes in mortification as Phil looks down at him sprawled on the floor. His heart is racing with embarrassment and surprise, and he wonders if he'll ever get used to the way Phil just blinks into existence.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

He opens his eyes at the question, cringing at the smirk he sees on Phil's face. His eyes are light today, that beautiful silvery-blue he noticed the day they met, his hair loose and falling to his shoulders. He looks powerful and unapproachable with an aura that warns against touch. And yet there's something about him that makes Dan badly wants to touch. He knows that he shouldn't;  he doesn’t even know much about this man. Faery. Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to call him!

 

“Daniel? Do you need assistance?” Phil’s voice is curious now as if he’s analyzing the situation to come to the appropriate solution.

 

“N-no, I’m fine. Just, you know, kinda clumsy." He ignores the hand Phil’s holding out to him and rolls on to his stomach, before pushing himself up to a stand. He brushes off his clothes before looking at Phil once more. “Why do you keep calling me Daniel anyway? Nobody but my Nan calls me Daniel. Most people call me Dan."

 

Phil looks confused when he answers, “Because you did not give me permission to do so.”

 

Dan snorts out a laugh at that, finding it just this side of ridiculous. He’s not sure why it strikes him as funny but suddenly he’s laughing, doubling over with it. “So you can make bargains and feed off of me but you can't call me by my shortened name?” He wipes tears from his eyes, his lips turned up in a smile as he looks at Phil. “How absurd.”

 

“You can call me Dan."

 

~

 

Dan's laugh sounds much like the music he plays, ringing out and filling the room with its noisy, boisterous sound. It stirs something within him, something that's lain dormant for centuries and it makes him wary. He must not become infatuated with a mortal, not again. It had taken him decades to recover...

 

Phil shakes his head and focuses once again on Dan. “Thank you, Dan,” he says graciously as he watches Dan move toward the kitchen. “What was that you were playing?”

 

“It's a piece called _Bolero_. It's one of my favorites because it's so-oh, would you like something to drink? I'm thinking of having tea” Dan calls over his shoulder as he rummages through his cupboards. He bent over searching for a kettle, and Phil can't help enjoying the way Dan's trousers cling to his arse.

 

“Phil?”

 

He drags his eyes away from Dan's ass to answer, “Tea would be lovely. Thank you.” He waits until Dan is done puttering and accepts the cup of tea from him. He looks around the inside of the cottage and is suddenly filled with a longing for nature.

 

“Dan, may we sit in your garden?”

 

Dan looks surprised but then shrugs, heading toward the door. They sit together at the little table set among the flowers and sip tea, enjoying the stillness of mid-afternoon. But the silence is filled with an odd tension as if they have words to say but no way which to say them.

 

Suddenly Dan clears his throat and sets his cup down. “I doubt you came to me for a cup of tea and some mindless chatter. You're here to feed, aren't you?”

 

He's caught off guard by the directness of the question, the quiet bravery it takes to ask. He shouldn't be surprised, lord knows he's seen enough human interaction over the years to realize that they are quite odd. But Dan has asked and so he will answer.

 

“Yes,” he says, looking Dan straight in the eye. “I am here to feed.”

 

He wants to tell him that he enjoys the tea he's prepared, nearly as much as he enjoys their simple conversation, but he's cut off in mid-thought.

 

“So then why do you bother with all this pretense?” Dan asks, eyes flashing with growing anger. His face is drawn into a frown, all heavy eyebrows and down-turned lips. Even angry, Phil finds him beautiful.

 

“Pretense? I don't understand what you mean.”

 

 _“_ Why sit here drinking cups of tea or asking me about my music? Why don't you just take what you're here for and go?”

 

He feels a pang in his chest at Dan's words. He never stopped to think of Dan's preferences in this; they had struck a bargain, and that was the end of it. But perhaps Dan didn't wish for Phil to linger, as his words certainly seemed to indicate that he'd rather Phil just take and leave. Phil had hoped there would be more than that between them, but once again it seems he's been foolish in his dealings with mortals.

 

He's quiet now, his discontentment showing as the breeze swirls over the long grass. The birds stop their singing and even the drone of the bumblebee stills.

 

“If that's what you would prefer, _Daniel_ , then I will take my leave.”

 

~

 

He's left staring at the chair that now sits empty, the teacup abandoned on the table half drunk. The bubble of silence created by Phil's anger has dissipated and sound rushes back into Dan's ears, the chirping of birds obnoxiously loud.

 

Phil had just... left. Left in anger and some other emotion Dan couldn't identify, only catching a brief glimpse of it as it flashed over his face. He's not sure what he'd said to cause that melancholy expression and can't focus on it anyway. Because right now he's freaking out.

 

“Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck!”

 

He's just pissed off a faery. A man who holds vast powers and who has the ability to take away the gift he'd given to Dan. And all because Dan had gotten himself worked up about Phil's attempt at normalcy, his bumbling overture of friendship. Why couldn't he have just bitten his tongue and let Phil drink a damn cup of fucking tea? He doesn't even know if he'd upheld his end of their agreement today. Phil had left before Dan could ask.

 

He covers his face and rocks in his seat for a moment before heaving a sigh and getting to his feet, gathering the cups to wash. He hopes Phil will be understanding when he sees him next, that he'll let Dan make amends for being a dick.

 

“I'll apologize. Surely he'll understand that I was, that I _am_ , confused?” He's talking to himself now, washing dishes as his foot taps out a nervous rhythm.“Maybe he's lonely? Do they get lonely?”

 

He moves back to the piano now, stopping to build a fire before settling in for the night. His last thought before he loses himself to music is that he'll talk to Phil next week.

 

But the week goes by without a visit from Phil.

 

He's spent all day in a state of nervous anxiety, waiting for him to pop into the room, but he never appears. He finds himself jumping at the slightest noise, spinning around to face Phil only to find an empty room. He tells himself that perhaps he'll come tomorrow but finds himself uneasy. His mood is reflected in his music, choosing Rachmaninoff's _The Isle of the Dead_. It's a sweeping, heavy piece; dark and broody like the atmosphere filling his cottage, and he plays until the fire gutters out.

 

Another week passes without a visit from Phil, and his unease has slid firmly into fear. He finds himself checking his hands every morning, terrified that Phil's anger will have caused him to decide that Dan isn't worth the trouble. He spends every minute at the piano playing as if it will all be stolen away the next time he sits on the bench. He has no way to contact Phil, can only wait for him to arrive, and the waiting is driving him mad.

 

He ventures to the village for groceries when his cupboards run empty, in sore need of tea and his favorite comfort foods. He makes short work of his shopping, not wanting to linger and converse any more than he must, and soon he's heading back up the path toward home. As he rounds the corner, he looks up and stops, the bags swinging limply from his hand.

 

Phil's sat at the table in the garden, eyes closed and face tipped up to the sun. He looks paler than usual; his milk-white skin gone sallow and dull, and his hair is limp and slightly tangled.

 

He looks sad, Dan thinks, and he must make some sort of noise because Phil's eyes suddenly open and meet his own. Those eyes are heavy and gray with all the blue washed away, filled with power and the grief of centuries of living. They stare at each other across the nodding flowers before Phil rises from the chair and gives him a slight bow.

 

“Hello, Daniel.”

 

~

 

Phil lets the sun warm his face while he sits in Dan's garden waiting for him to arrive home. The gentle heat of it is soothing, and he sometimes wishes it were enough to thaw the frozen parts of himself he keeps locked away.

 

There's much he keeps hidden for the world of the Unseelie is an unfriendly one, rife with cruelties large and small. His love of plants and simple gardening for pleasure, the enjoyment he takes from his books; all of the softer things he's always enjoyed but has to conceal, knowing that their discovery would lead to his misery.

 

He reads books of poetry that make him feel, the words on the page dancing in his mind and twisting his heart. Words that make him think of ancient times and softer pleasures, of quiet nights and a murmured voice in his ear. Words that make him think of the man he once loved and lost, taken from him by age and a mortality he couldn't change.

 

He'd grieved the loss of his lover so intensely that he thought he might go mad with it. So much so that Phil had been careful after Cian to never let himself be drawn to a human again, becoming cold enough to feed without attachment but never cold enough to numb the guilt that accompanied it. Over time he'd isolated himself from everyone, human and Fae alike, and took pleasure in the small things left to him.

 

He'd spent the last two weeks alone there in his chambers. Dan's rejection had hurt far more than he expected and so he had gone to hide and seek solace in the things that he loved. Only there could he be himself, where he could indulge in the things that called to his soul. So he'd read and he'd gardened, talking to his plants as he weeded and fed and watered them. He was certain that they grew better with a bit of verbal attention, growing stronger and greener for him in appreciation, but perhaps it was just the isolation.

 

He knows that his growing loneliness was the only reason he'd decided to answer Dan's call that morning but he'd thought his interest would be appeased by the contact gained through their agreement. But then he'd heard him play, pouring out his soul at the piano and he was captivated. Dan's face was a picture of passion and emotion when he was lost to his music and Phil couldn't help but want to bask in it from the periphery. He was under no illusion that Dan wanted him for anything more than his healing powers but perhaps Phil could pretend.

 

Pretend that there were kindness and friendship between them, a mutual enjoyment of each other's company. Maybe even something more...

 

The footsteps coming up the path rouse him from his thoughts, and he lifts his head to see Dan standing there, silent and still. He gets to his feet and gives a formal half-bow before speaking.

 

“Hello, Daniel.” He stops, uncertain of his reception now after Dan's angry outburst. He finds himself lost for words and so he waits for Dan to speak, to provide some indicator of his mood. His face is expressionless and Phil feels uncharacteristically nervous as Dan watches him, his eyes staring into his as if searching for something.

 

Dan sighs then moves forward, shifting the bags into one hand as he digs in his pocket with the other, searching for his keys. He unlocks his door then heads inside, leaving Phil standing on the path. He waits, not wanting to enter Dan's home again without permission. He's not well versed in human etiquette and he doesn't wish to anger Dan further by assuming he's welcome.

 

“Phil?”

 

He hears him moving around inside, cupboards banging shut as he puts his purchases away before Dan appears at the door holding a kettle, his face creased with a confused frown.

 

“Are you coming in?”

 

Phil shrugs his shoulders before saying, “I wasn't given permission to enter.”

 

Dan snorts. “That hasn't stopped you before.”

 

It stings, this chiding sarcasm that serves to make him feel foolish and small. His nerves slip away, replaced by a wave of anger that burns in his throat. He's done no wrong here; he's upheld his end of their agreement and even provided Dan with a means of protection. For him to-to _ridicule_ him in this way is unacceptable.

 

“Then I beg your pardon, Daniel.” The words fall from his lips like hailstones, icy and sharp with disapproval. “I never intended to abuse your hospitality while fulfilling my end of the bargain.”

 

He's drawn himself up to his full height, outrage straitening his back and causing his magic to stir. It's a static charge that whispers along his skin as it builds, searching for an outlet. He wants badly to let go, to let it crash through the meadow in a rolling wave of destruction but Dan's pallor and apprehensive eyes stay his hand.

 

“I'm sorry, Phil.” Dan's voice is a small thing that barely stirs the air between them as his shaking fingers twist around themselves in agitation. “I don't mean to seem ungrateful. And I'm sorry for being so rude the last time too.”

 

Phil finds his indignation dissipating against his will, softened by Dan's apology and woebegone face. His shoulders slump as he realizes that he's made yet another misstep here with Dan. He doesn't want his fear, doesn't want to see his face drain of color or watch his hands shake. He wants to make him smile and watch those eyes light up in amusement, in affection.

 

He wants his companionship.

 

“No, it is I who should apologize,” he said. Guilt stirs as he realizes that Dan has had no reason to put his trust in him, no real guarantee of safety. “I have behaved badly and am sorry to have done so. Can we walk?”

 

He waits outside while Dan puts the kettle back and then they're walking the path toward Cnoc Meadha. There's a tension to the silence, electric and anticipatory like the air before a lightning storm. He can feel Dan's eyes on him as they climb, stolen glances that land on the side of his face with the delicacy of a butterfly.

 

When they reach the top of the fairy mound Phil turns to face Dan, standing there in a shaft of weak sunlight that gilds the soft waves of his hair and caresses the curves of his face. He's once again struck by Dan's beauty and he suddenly, desperately, wants to get this right.

 

“Daniel, I'd like us to start over if you please.”

 

Dan's eyes shoot to his as he folds his arms protectively across his body. He doesn't quite move to hide his hands, but Phil can see that the instinct is there, rooted in fear.

 

He continues, voice soft and soothing. “I'm not speaking of your hands or the healing done to them, so you need not hide them from me. I'm speaking of our interactions, our time spent together. I'd like it to be more than a brief exchange between strangers.”

 

“More.” Dan's voice is flat and his eyes accusatory, suspicion clouding his face. “How much more?”

 

Phil sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration, before saying, “It's not about sex, Daniel! How many times must I say?”

 

He drops his arms and blurts out, “I'd like us to try and be friends.”

 

It's blunt and to the point and he can see how it catches him off guard. He watches Dan's mouth drop open in surprise before he gathers himself again.

 

“Why would you want to be friends with me? I'm nothing special. Surely you must have friends among your own people?”

 

“Ahh, that's where you are wrong,” Phil said, walking closer to where he's stood in that beam of sunlight. “You have the gift of music within you, a gift that spills out into the world when you play. You have passion and courage and at times you have even been amusing.”

 

He watches Dan roll his eyes as a small smile plays at the corners of his mouth and feels a small sense of accomplishment as if some small barrier between them has been breached.

 

He gives his head a shake at his uncharacteristic sentimentality before continuing, “Things are different in the world of the Fae. There is no friendship there, Daniel. It's a place of secrets and deception, and you must promise me that you will be cautious should you ever find yourself in the presence of another of my kind.”

 

“It sounds lonely,” Dan said. He's looking at Phil with a faint hint of pity, those soulful brown eyes soft and vaguely sad. “Don't you have anyone?”

 

He freezes in shock. “I-I did once,” he stammers, his voice breaking slightly before he gains control of it. “But it was long ago and I don't wish to speak of him today.”

 

He's caught off guard by the question, the memory of Cian once again rising up and bringing that never forgotten swelling of grief. He pushes it down and ices it over before continuing. “So what do you think, Daniel? Do you think you could be friends with one such as myself?”

 

Dan chews on his bottom lip for a moment before letting out a sigh, his shoulders slumping as he lets go of his defensive posture. He looks at Phil from under his lashes then smiles a bit as if reluctantly amused by the ridiculousness of it all.

 

“Well, Phil, my friends call me Dan. Why don't we start there?”

 

The spring breeze whirls around them, the evidence of his happiness dancing through Dan's hair as Phil's smile blazes brighter than the sun.

 

~

 

The smile Phil gives him is blinding.

 

Dan can feel his hair lifting as the breeze kicked up by Phil's magic slips through his curls, twisting them into a riotous mass before falling across his forehead. Phil isn't hiding how pleased he is by Dan's capitulation and he offers a timid smile in return.

 

He hates to break the fragile peace between them, but his head is filled with questions and worries that tumble about in his brain, searching for answers. He knows that they need to be honest with each other but still he hesitates, a kernel of fear within him that Phil will take it all back should Dan anger him.

 

 _“_ Dan?”

 

Phil's voice is soft and questioning so he takes a deep breath and lifts his chin, looking Phil in the eyes.

 

Those quicksilver eyes have lightened, the heavy grey of earlier replaced by that silvery-blue that Dan is coming to realize means that Phil is happy. He doesn't want to see them darken in anger or irritation but there are things that Dan must ask. Things that he has to know.

 

 _“_ Dan, is everything alright?” Phil asks.

 

The wind dies down as if sensing the seriousness of Dan's mood, the nodding flowers growing still once more. Phil is watching him carefully, searching his face for some clue as to Dan's turmoil. He reminds himself once more that Phil has been kind, that he wants them to be friends and lets the words spill from his mouth in a nervous rush.

 

 _“_ I want to know more about our bargain and how long it lasts, and what happens if I upset you or make you angry again? Will you take it all back and-”

 

 _“_ Dan. Dan! Calm down, breathe.” Phil implores. He stretches his hand toward Dan as if to offer comfort before pausing and letting it fall between them. “Let's sit, shall we?”

 

He senses Phil's magic before he sees the results of it; a strange, staticky feeling that skims over his skin and causes him to shiver. At his feet lies a soft throw in greens and golds, reclining pillows scattered over the surface of it. Phil drapes himself elegantly amongst them and looks up at Dan expectantly.

 

He stands there for another moment before kneeling across from Phil, trying to arrange his awkward limbs into a comfortable position. He sits stiffly, trying to match Phil's elegance before giving up and letting his body settle into something more relaxed. He can feel Phil watching him as he plucks a delicate bloom, twirling it around his fingers as he once again tries to gather his thoughts.

 

Phil breaks the silence then, his voice deep and soothing as he tries to settle Dan's unease.

 

 _“_ Daniel, can we talk about these things that have you so distraught?” Phil asks. “Tell me what has you so afraid, _a stór_ _._ ”

 

He stores the foreign word away to puzzle over later and starts over.

 

 _“_ I want to know more about our bargain,” he says. “How long do things like this usually last?”

 

He watches Phil's face carefully for signs of subterfuge as he waits for him to answer. Surely even the Fae have little tells when they lie, a shifty gaze or flushing cheeks perhaps?

 

But Phil remains relaxed against the pillows, all of his attention centered on Dan. If he's a liar then he's a damned good one. Phil moves then and sits upright, his knees knocking into Dan's as he shifts his legs.

 

 _“_ A bargain entered freely between Fae and mortal has no end,” he replies, his moody eyes holding Dan's gaze. “The moment you spoke the words you became a part of me, and in turn, I became a part of you.”

 

Before he can work himself up to a proper panic attack Phil holds up his hand and continues.

 

 _“_ This does not mean that we must remain together for all time, should we not get on. Shall we agree to a period of time, a trial as you humans would say?”

 

 _“_ How long, um.... how long would this trial last?” he asks, still stunned by the thought of being forever tied to the man across from him.

 

 _“_ Let us remain bound until _Samhain_ _._ If we don't suit each other then we shall agree to go our separate ways.” He smiles, but his eyes remain shrewd and watchful. “What say you, Daniel? Will you agree?”.

 

Phil once again extends his hand out to Dan. He hesitates for a moment before placing his hand into the one that waits and shudders as he feels the magic twine around his wrist like a ribbon. It moves up his arm and wraps around his body before it disappears into the air, leaving behind a honeyed warmth that fills his chest.

 

 _“_ What was that?” Dan murmurs, his skin prickled with gooseflesh. He feels so good, so relaxed, that he can't help but want to feel it again and again and again.

 

Phil tugs him a bit closer and leans in to speak in his ear, his lips brushing against Dan's sensitive lobe. _“_ Lovely, isn't it? That, _a stór,_ is the feeling of our bond. You within me and me in you.” He smiles now at Dan, deliberately easing the tension rising between them by shifting back against the pillows.

 

 _“_ I look forward to sharing that with you again.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Filled with my sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A life-changing injury leaves a desperate musician looking for a miracle. He finds it in the company of a Fae muse, but at what cost?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of three
> 
> Gaelic translations:  
> a stór- my treasure  
> mo ghrá- my love  
> a chuisle mo chroí- pulse of my heart  
> Dia dhuit- good morning or hello

 

**Samhradh**

  
  


Summer brings balmy air and extended daylight, the fields of spring flowers giving way beneath the grazing of cattle. Dan's meadow remains untouched, tucked away as it is at the end of the village proper. He enjoys taking his tea outside at his little garden table, watching the plovers and swifts swoop and dive among the wildflowers. He sips at his cup, blowing away a wisp of steam while he waits for Phil.

 

They've settled into a routine of sorts, with Phil coming to visit him most days. At first, Dan had found his company unnerving, uncertain as he was of Phil's intentions. But as awkward as their initial interactions had been they've now settled into a comfortable companionship.

 

They spend lazy afternoons tending Dan’s little garden. Phil has an affinity for plants: the flowers and plants bursting forth with glorious color at the touch of his fingertips. He encourages Dan to speak to them and though he rolls his eyes, Dan finds himself whispering to them when he’s alone. 

 

Phil always asks Dan to play for him later in the evenings, settling beside him on the piano bench. He watches Dan's hands move over the keys as he gets lost in the music, smiling when Dan opens his eyes to see him watching with rapt fascination. Everything Dan does seems to fascinate Phil and he finds himself basking in the spotlight of that concentrated attention, letting it pour over him like sunshine on a summer day.

 

He finds himself drawn to Phil in ways he never expected to feel. Though dangerous and powerful, Phil has never treated him with anything less than respect. His earlier cool and arrogant nature has faded to reveal what Dan is coming to understand is the real heart of Phil; loyal and gentle but fiercely protective, guarding his tender nature from the dangers of the other Fae.

 

Phil brings gifts when he comes; tiny trinkets, a clutch of wildflowers, delicious sweetmeats that he offers to Dan with a hint of a blush on his cheeks. Phil’s slightly fumbling embarrassment is sweetly endearing and Dan can’t help but feel himself long for something more.

 

He listens to the sounds of the meadow now as the sun begins to set and finishes the remains of his tea. With the call of the night owls at his back, he enters his cottage and lays the fire, the earthy smell of peat filling the room.

 

He senses Phil before he hears his familiar tap upon the doorframe, the electric charge sliding up his back and raising gooseflesh along his arms. He turns to face him and goes still, captivated once again by Phil's beauty.

 

Dressed tonight in deep forest green, he stands in the doorway limned in the glow of the rising moon. His hair is held back once more with a twist of leather and his entire face lights up with the smile he aims at Dan. He strides across the room, and Dan can feel his mouth go dry with a desire that has only grown since their first meeting.

 

Phil's eyes are nearly molten, a swirling silver lit from within as if burning with the same heat that fills Dan, and it makes him nearly breathless with want. He can feel it building between them; this tension that grows with every look shared, every glancing touch of their hands.

 

“Good evening, _a stór._ Has the day treated you kindly?” he asks. “Come, tell me about it.”

 

He reaches out for Dan's hand as he does every visit and lets the feeling of their bond sweep over them both, filling Dan with that drowsy warmth once more. He lets Phil guide him to the sofa and settles there, drawing his knees to his chest as he gets comfortable.

 

He can't help the disappointment he feels when Phil waves over a chair instead of joining him on the sofa. He fiddles with the strings of his hoodie, tying and untying them into endless bows as he struggles to muddle through the thoughts in his head.

 

“Dan, is everything alright?”

 

He lifts his head and forces a smile. He can try and figure his shit out later when he's not face-to-face with the man he daydreams so often about.

 

He offers an apology, his shoulders lifting in a sheepish shrug. “Sorry, Phil. I'm just a little distracted today” he says as he unfolds his legs and stretches them out before him. He bites his lip as Phil's gaze follows the movement, traveling up his body until their eyes meet. Phil's eyes are hot and filled with desire, and Dan holds his breath in anticipation only to quietly let it out in frustration when Phil stands and walks to the piano. 

 

Dan watches as he rifles through the sheet music there, those elegant fingers flipping through them before he pauses and lifts one from the stack. Phil turns back to Dan and holds it out to him, head tilted in entreaty.

 

He rises and joins him at the piano, seating himself on the bench as Phil sidles next to him. They're pressed together from hip to knee, and his breath comes a bit faster at the feeling of him there, strong and powerful and full of magic.

 

He's full of conflicting emotions; all confusion and nerves and desire that he feeds into the notes he plays, letting them dance into the silence of the room and fill it with passion as he closes his eyes and loses himself in the music.

 

~

 

Dan takes his breath away.

 

Phil’s eyes are drawn to Dan's face and the way his eyes drift shut as he sways along to the music he creates. His skin glows in the firelight, pale and enticing. The deep red coloring of his hooded jumper suits him, deepening the earthy tones of his hair and tinting his cheeks with a hint of pink.

 

The music sweeps over him; all at once delicate and powerful. Phil watches as Dan's fingers move over the keys, his arms as fluid as water as Dan sweeps them along the length of the piano. The music fills him a near desperate yearning, a longing desire to touch and be touched. He finds himself holding his breath as the music comes to a crescendo, Dan's hands strong and powerful, before fading out into soft silence.

 

Dan lifts his hands from the piano and turns his head, his eyes falling to Phil's lips before rising to meet his own. He swallows as Dan closes his eyes and lifts his chin slightly in offering.

 

Phil hesitates for a moment, flooded with memories and nerves and a pang of lingering guilt. He's not been with anyone since Cian and had never imagined he would again. Then he'd heard Dan sing and now here he was before him, beautiful in the glow of the peat fire. 

 

Phil closes his eyes and lets himself tip forward to breach the bit of distance between them. His lips press against Dan's and finds them soft and warm and tasting of his evening tea. He cradles Dan's face in his hands as he lets his mouth move against Dan's in gentle exploration; deepening the kiss when those lips part beneath his. It's tentative and sweet and slow... until Dan dips his tongue between his lips to slide against his own.

 

Desire lights a fire in his veins and his self-control falters. He groans and pulls Dan closer, plunging his hands into his hair, the curls and waves wrapping around his fingers as he tips Dan's face for a deeper kiss. He can feel Dan's hands clutching at his hips as his hum of pleasure fills his mouth, and for a moment Phil lets go.

 

His magic floods the room in a rush, the delicate lace curtains snapping in the wind that gusts through the cottage. He can feel the electricity rising in his fingertips and he tears his mouth from Dan's in a desperate effort to regain control. Phil closes his eyes and breathes deep, tugging on the trails of his magic until the room calms once more, but when he opens his eyes to offer an apology, the words die on his lips.

 

Dan's eyes are heavy and slumberous with desire, his mouth rosy and sheened with moisture from Phil's kisses. His cheeks are flushed and as Phil watches, Dan runs his tongue over his plump lips as if to gather the taste of Phil that lingers there. He wants nothing more than to lose himself to this moment, to accept the offer he sees written on Dan's face but he knows he can't let this go too far. Dan's hands come up to frame his face, pulling him close as he leans in for another kiss.

 

“Dan, wait.”

 

Dan's eyes meet his, uncertainty and a growing embarrassment creeping across his face. He drops his hands into his lap and turns away, his shoulders curling forward as he closes in on himself.

 

“Daniel. Please, won't you look at me?” Phil pleads. He rests his hands on Dan's shoulders and squeezes gently in an effort to ease the tension there. “Dan, you're lovely. You're lovely and sweet and- ”

 

“Oh god. Spare me the 'it's not you, it's me' speech!” Dan snarls, rising from the piano bench to walk stiffly to the kitchen. “I get it, really. You're Fae, and I’m just some lowly human, far beneath someone like you. I get it, ok?”

 

Phil listens to Dan bang about in the kitchen, the clatter of the kettle and rough closing of cupboard doors testimony to his tumultuous emotions. He sighs and rises to his feet to join him, waiting until Dan turns around before stepping forward, placing them chest to chest once more.

 

“Dan, can you stop and take a moment with me? Come, let us sit outside for a time and talk,” he entreats, taking one of Dan's hands and bringing it to his lips. "The evening is a lovely one, will you enjoy it with me?" He watches as some of the fire drains from Dan's eyes and gives a little sigh of relief.

 

He holds Dan's hand as they sit together, breathing in the warm night air. The stars are bright tonight, winking slyly from their place in the sky as the moonlight gilds the meadow flowers in silver.

 

Phil takes a deep breath to steady his nerves, then starts talking.

 

“You asked me once if I had anyone, a special someone to share my life with. I wish to tell you of him now if you would still like to hear?”

 

He watches Dan's head turn toward him, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the garden as he nods his head. So he takes another deep breath and begins.

 

“His name was Cian. He was mine for a time, and I loved him more than I thought one could love. And to my surprise, he loved me too. He was charming and sweet. And he was mortal.” 

 

The pain still surprises him, a dull ache that catches him off guard as he prepares to talk about the loss of the man that had once spent so many nights at his side. “And you mortals are so delicate, so fragile with your susceptibility to disease and bodies that age.”

 

Phil swallows and turns his face from Dan to look over the meadow. Out in the field, mice scurrying about, hiding from the owl that swoops above in lazy circles searching for a convenient meal. He could hear all the night sounds if he wished, could allow the cacophony to fill his ears and drown out the memory of a night he longs to forget, and for a moment he’s tempted to do just that. But Dan is waiting, his eyes filled with a soft understanding.

 

“We were blessed with thirty years, Cian and I. We laughed and loved, fought and made up, and lived life as we pleased. But no amount of love can halt the aging of mortals. He grew old and often would fret about my youthful appearance,” he said with a sad smile. “But it meant nothing to me, for I loved him.”

 

“One night he went to bed early. _'I'm fine Pilib, just tired. The winter air has settled in my bones'_ he'd said. So I let him go and stoked the fire in the hope of banishing the chill that filled that tiny cottage. He was gone before I could join him in our bed.” His voice is thick now with remembered grief, his fingers trembling against the table. “All my great power and there was nothing I could do to bring back my lover laying silent and cold beneath our bedsheets.”

 

Phil starts when he feels Dan's hand cover his where it rests, a gentle reminder that tonight he's not alone.

 

“I loved Cian. I loved him with everything I had and never thought I'd ever be interested in another,” he says. He turns back to Dan and meets his eyes, so dark and full of life. “Then I heard you sing to me and now... now there's you.”

 

~

 

He's stunned into silence, Phil's soft confession echoing in his head. Dan feels guilty for pushing, for leaping to the wrong conclusion; unsure how to comfort the man sitting across from him at the table. “I'm sorry Phil. So sorry for your loss,” he says gently, giving Phil's hand a light squeeze. "Did anyone know?"

 

"About Cian?" Phil asks. "No. For that would have drawn the attention of others and that would have been dangerous for both of us."

 

Dan frowns in confusion. "I don't understand. Was it because Cian was mortal? Is that forbidden among the fae?"

 

Phil shakes his head and turns to face Dan. He stares intently into Dan's eyes as if to stress the importance of his words. "The world of the fae can be a devious and deadly place, even for one such as me. A kind face often masks an evil heart in the Otherworld, so one must always be cautious."

 

"So you were forced to grieve alone," Dan says softly.

 

"I have been alone for over a hundred years."

 

There's a haunted expression etched on Phil's face that Dan would do anything to erase so he gets to his feet and moves around the table to stand before Phil.

 

“Will you walk with me?” he asks. "There's a lovely spot I'd like to show you."

 

He waits for Phil to rise, and they move together towards the path, Phil following his lead. He hasn't released Phil's hand so Dan walks with him toward the meadow and the shallow lake that hides there in the center. The night is warm, and he's struck by the desire to sit there with Phil and dangle their feet in the cool water until they can watch the sunrise. The grass is soft against his calves and as they walk hand in hand, he turns to look back at Phil.

 

Phil’s face still bears the sadness of his tale, his lips down-turned with lingering grief. But his eyes are steady on Dan's, silvery-blue and soft in a way that Dan has never seen them before. It makes butterflies come to life in his stomach, fluttering with nerves and desire. He wants Phil, yes. But he wants Phil to want him too, free of guilt and grief and whatever else is bubbling underneath that suddenly aloof surface.

 

They reach the edge of the lake and stop to gaze across the water. The moonlight dapples the waves that lap against the banks of the shoreline, gentle and rhythmic and enticing. The reeds and rushes sway gently in the breeze, perfuming the air with a rich herbal scent as he tips his chin up and breathes deep, letting the peacefulness of the moment soothe him. He senses movement to his right as Phil moves closer and then Phil is tracing a single fingertip along his throat, making him shiver.

 

“You have such a lovely throat,” Phil murmurs. “So long and pale. So sensitive...”

 

He waits as if in a dream as Phil bends his head to place his mouth to Dan's pulse. Phil's lips are barely parted, but Dan can feel the moist heat of his breath against him, making him tremble when Phil presses a gentle kiss there.

 

“Phil. Phil, wait,” he says reluctantly. He doesn't really want Phil to stop, but he can't let him continue. Not like this, with the memory of his lost love looming between them.

 

Phil pulls away, and Dan feels the loss keenly. He wants to reach out and pull him closer and sink back into his mouth. He wants to make Phil lose control again, to feel that mad rush of power that made his skin tingle. But not until he knows that Phil wants _Dan_ and not just a substitute for the man once loved, then cruelly lost.

 

“I'm sorry about Cian, Phil,” he says now, reaching out to place his hand on Phil's cheek. “And I'm honored that you chose to share his memory with me. But you seem to be fighting an internal battle every time we're together. And I don't want you to do something you'll regret in the morning.”

 

Phil smiles sadly and covers Dan's hand with his own, pulling it down and pressing a kiss to the palm. “Silly mortal,” he whispers. “I regret nothing. I'll mourn for you, and I'll ache for you. But never will I regret you.”

 

Dan can't help his soft gasp as the thrill of those words flow through his body like electricity, lighting him up from his head to his toes. He looks at Phil standing there, watching him with those lovely eyes and feels as if he's standing on the precipice of something absolutely life-changing. He stands frozen in place and then Phil tugs him closer to whisper in his ear.

 

“Shall we swim?” Phil smiles at the dumbfounded look on Dan's face, laughing aloud as Dan sputters in disbelief.

 

He can't be serious, Dan thinks. “You want to swim now? Like, right now?”

 

“Yes, Daniel. I wish to swim right now,” Phil laughs, pulling his tunic up over his head. He tosses it to the grass, watching as Dan's eyes drift over his naked chest. “You do know how, yes?”

 

“Of course I do! But Phil- ” he stops when Phils hands land on his belt, following the slide of leather through the buckle with an avid gaze. Fuck. He gives his head a slight shake and looks away, ignoring the smirk on Phil's face. “Phil, we were in the middle of something!”

 

“Indeed we were, _a stór._  And I'd very much like to get back to it,” he says with a sly smile. His belt joins the tunic on the grass as he leans down to pull off his boots. “Should I leave my trousers on for now?”

 

Dan’s tongue feels too thick for his mouth, and he can only stand there, struck dumb by the sight of Phil shrugging those broad shoulders before turning to wade into the water. He watches Phil dive beneath the surface with barely a ripple left behind and then jolts into action, tugging at his jumper with hasty hands, wanting nothing more than to join him.

 

He shivers when the water laps over his feet. It feels icy cold against his overheated flesh and he dunks himself under, rising up with a sharp gasp as he shakes the water from his hair. The lake is quiet and as he turns in a circle, Phil is nowhere to be seen.

 

Before he has a chance to panic he feels a familiar hand on his ankle, sliding up his calf. He holds his breath as those fingers continue their slow slide up his thighs, Phil rising from the water behind him as sleek as a lake nymph. He presses himself against Dan's back, hands stroking over his hips as he drops his head to Phil's shoulder.

 

“Daniel, may I?” A soft whisper in his ear, warm lips caressing the lobe, hands carefully still. 

 

Waiting.

 

“ _Yes_ ” 

 

~

 

Phil sighs and brings his mouth to Dan's throat once more, letting his tongue rest against the pulse that beats rapidly beneath the fragile skin. The graze of his teeth has Dan hissing in a breath before letting it out in a shaky sigh. A hand in his hair presses him tighter to Dan's neck so Phil opens his mouth and sucks lightly, letting his hands slide up Dan's chest to pull him closer.

 

The feel of Dan beneath his hands inflames him; those sweet stifled moans stirring him beyond reason. He can feel his magic rising in tandem with his desire, and he longs to unleash both but refuses to be so reckless. He wants to treasure this moment and this beautiful gift he's been given.

 

"So lovely. So full of passion." Phil says as he wraps one arm around Dan's waist. He slips his other hand lower, teasing at the waistband of Dan's sodden jeans. Phil toys with the button there and listens as Dan's breath quickens in excitement, nuzzling his nose into the hair at Dan's nape. "I want to please you,  _mo ghrá_ … will you let me?”

 

“Yes! Christ yes, take them off already- oh!”

 

Dan's eagerness makes him smile and he motions with his hand, whisking away the jeans with nothing more than a thought. Phil muffles his groan of raw desire into the crook of Dan's neck; the feeling of Dan's smooth naked skin beneath his hands making his cock stiffen and swell within his trousers. He carefully angles his hips away from Dan's tempting backside and runs his hands over Dan's hips in a gentle caress.

 

Phil freezes when Dan grabs his hand only to huff in amusement when he guides it impatiently to his cock. His fingers slide featherlight over the tip, smoothing the silky wetness there as Dan pulses in his hand. Gliding his fist over Dan's hardness in long smooth strokes, he bites gently at Dan's ear, making him tremble as Phil whispers words of praise and affection into that delicate shell.

 

"You are so beautiful, Daniel. Look at you, so sweet and responsive beneath my hands. So lovely," Phil sighs.

 

The night air is filled with the quiet sounds of Dan's pleasure; soft moans and murmured pleas as Phil lets his power builds, sending sparks along his skin and making Dan gasp at the sensation. He spills over Phil's fingers in a hot rush, the sound of Dan's groan of delight falling sweet into his ear as he thrusts once more into Phil's fist.

 

Phil takes a deep, shuddering breath and viciously tamps down the hot arousal burning in his veins. He can not take his pleasure with Dan. He knows he can not. But forbidden fruit has never seemed so sweet…

 

"Phil?" Dan says softly. He sounds confused by Phil's reticence. "I-Is something wrong? Was it not good? Don't you want to… you know?" 

 

Easing away to make room for Dan to turn in his arms, Phil pulls him close and peppers Dan’s lips and cheeks with playful, adoring kisses.

 

"It was perfect, _mo ghrá._  You're so beautiful and sweet that I just want to hold you for a while. Come, let us gaze upon the stars together."

 

He lifts him from the water and walks to shore with Dan wrapped tight around him. Stopping at the edge of the grassy bank and calling to his magic, he creates an enticing spot to rest before laying Dan down upon a throw of softest cashmere. Phil follows him down and stretches out alongside him. He strokes his hands over Dan's body; admiring the graceful lines of his arms, his narrow hips, those long, lean legs that taper to surprisingly delicate ankles. So very different from Cian's sturdy, warrior-like body but just as beautiful to him.

 

“Dan, _a chuisle mo chroí,_ ” he murmurs. 

 

He smiles when Dan laughs at him, well aware that he's verging on ridiculous but he can't help it. It's been so long since he's had someone in his arms, someone to lavish his affection on. Phil wants to glut himself on this feeling, to let it fill him and push out the decades of loneliness he's been living with. So he rolls onto his back and pulls Dan with him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as Dan rests his head on his chest.

 

They drowse comfortably together; drifting in and out of sleep on the banks of the lake while the stars perform their nightly dance slowly across the horizon. The warm night air is quiet and still; the crickets and frogs stilling their song as if not to disturb the two men slumbering near the water's edge.

 

The gentle sunlight wakes him with muted amber rays soft against his eyelids. Phil blinks them open and turns his head, watching as the rising sun paints streaks of gold within Dan's hair and across his skin, coating him in honeyed warmth. He looks so sweet against the deep purple of the throw beneath him that Phil can't help but tip his head a bit closer, pressing his lips lightly against Dan's.

 

Dan scrunches his nose and swats him away with heavy limbs, letting out an annoyed huff at having his sleep disturbed. Phil watches in fond amusement as Dan stretches then rubs his eyes with his fists, squinting against the morning light when he opens them.

 

“Good morning, lovely. ‘Tis time to greet the day.”

 

Dan grunts as he pushes up on his elbows before offering him a sleepy smile. 

 

“Mmm, good morning,” he says with a yawn. “Do we have to get up already? It's too early,” he whines, flopping back onto the ground.

 

Phil grins and tugs him back up, laughing outright at the way Dan lets himself go boneless against the insistent pulling of Phil's hands. “Get up, you lazy sod. You're on display for any wayward villager to stumble across.”

 

He sits up and pouts adorably. “It's your fault,” he grumbles, “you've drained me of energy.”

 

The words are like a slap to the face and Phil struggles to keep the smile on his lips. He nearly set things in motion last night, things that would have deadly consequences and the reminder has panicked guilt coalescing into an icy ball in his gut.

 

“Come, shall we have tea in the garden?” 

 

They walk back hand in hand, and Phil can't help but stare at Dan's profile lit by the soft amber light of daybreak.

 

It's a lovely face. His smooth brow, sloping nose, and softly rounded chin paint a picture of sweet softness. But it's the signs of Dan's suffering that Phil finds so compelling; the beginnings of frown lines between those strong, bold brows, the faint lines whiskering out from the corners of his eyes that hint at pain-filled nights. Even his ever-chapped lips tell a story, of losing himself to music drenched days, chewing on his bottom lip in concentration. He's drawn to these visible testaments of Dan's strength and longs to sweep him away where he can never be harmed again.

 

The sight of someone sitting at Dan's garden table has him slowing, then coming to stop when that figure rises. He drops Dan's hand and draws himself up to his full height, ignoring the way Dan stiffens at his side.

 

“Phil?” Dan asks softly, as if sensing the turmoil roiling beneath Phil's outwardly calm demeanor.

 

He ignores that in favor of concentrating on the man coming to a halt before him. There are few reasons one of his own kind would have followed Phil here, none of them positive. So he keeps his thoughts guarded as he greets the Fae before him.

 

“Hello, Mhartain”. 

 

~

 

Dan eyes the man before them warily. He can sense Phil's unease and shifts on his feet, uncomfortable with the tension filling the air. He takes a step back then freezes when it draws attention his way.

 

“ _Dia dhuit,_  Phil.” His voice is silky and sly, full of secrets and dark things underneath. “Who is this lovely creature, hmm? Will you not introduce me?”

 

“What are you doing here, Mhartain? I'm quite sure you have more important things with which to occupy yourself. My companion is none of your concern.” Phil says wryly. He hasn't taken his eyes off the man facing them and his fingers twitch as if preparing to cast magic.

 

Mhartain looks darkly amused as his lips twist with a smirk. “So unwelcoming, brother!”

 

Dan's head snaps up at that. Brother? He eyes the man in front of him cautiously, trying to understand the strange scene that is playing out before him.

 

Mhartain is tall and slim; fair where Phil is dark, with sandy brown hair and familiar changeable eyes. There's an air of puckish menace about him that makes Dan shiver with dread as if sensing a threat. He's about to open his mouth, to say what he's not sure, but Phil cuts him off.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I'm here to see what has occupied so much of my baby brother's time. I've missed you.”

 

Phil barks out a harsh laugh at that. “Indeed? It's been nigh on a decade since I've last been graced with your presence.” He sobers, his face growing cold. “I ask again, what mischief do you hope to make here?”

 

The smile falls from Mhartain's lips, all pretense draining away to leave behind a faint malevolence. “Very well. There are rumors going around Court that you've developed a sudden desire for mortal pleasures. So I've come to see your new plaything, and I’m disappointed in you, Phil! He's much less sturdy looking than the other one, and that one lasted less than a half-century.”

 

Dan's ire at being considered a toy pales in comparison to the protective anger that swells at seeing Phil flinch at that heartless jab. 

 

“I'm plenty sturdy, thanks. Besides, we've bonded, so I'm sure we'll be just fine,” he says stiffly. He's oblivious to the way Phil goes still beside him, too focused on the expression spreading across Mhartain's face.

 

“Bonded?” he says with spiteful glee. “Little brother, I didn't think you had it in you!”

 

“Mhartain-”

 

“Still, he doesn't seem too bothered by his fate. You've done well for yourself, Phil.”

 

“My fate? What does he mean by that?” Dan asks as he turns to Phil, and his stomach clenches with anxiety at the look on Phil's face. He looks terrified. Terrified and guilty and Dan feels fear sweep over him. “Phil?”

 

The sound of Dan's tremulous voice brings Phil's gaze to his but before he can speak, Mhartain is interrupting once more.

 

“He doesn't know? Why, Phil… you've been quite devious. I'm so proud!” He mimes wiping a tear from his eye before turning to Dan, whispering conspiratorially, “Don't worry, little mortal. As long as you keep yourself from his bed, you'll be fine. He can't kill you that way.”

 

Before Dan can even process the words Phil's hands are coming up, his magic erupting all around them. The wind whips across him, nearly blowing him off of his feet as it blasts toward Mhartain like an arrow. Mhartain's eyes widen in alarm and then he's gone, blinking away before Phil's rage can strike.

 

The silence is deafening, the blood rushing into his head beats loudly in his ears.

 

“Dan?”

 

He turns slowly at the hesitant sound of Phil's voice. He can see the truth of Mhartain's words written on Phil's face but still, he asks.

 

“Is it true?”

 

“Dan-”

 

“Is. It. True?” he bites out between clenched teeth. He's barely holding on to his composure, but he wants to hear Phil say it. He needs to hear just what kind of trusting idiot he's been.

 

Phil wrings his hands before spreading them before him in helpless appeal. “Yes. _Mo ghrá,_  I'm so-”

 

“Shut up!” Dan yells. The breath is backing up in his throat, and he wants to scream, and then scream some more. “Fucking shut up! I can't believe I trusted you. That I let myself fall...”

 

The rest gets lost in a choked sob as he spins away, desperate to get inside where he can hide and cry in private misery. He's nearly there when he feels Phil's hand on his arm, fingers wrapped softly around his wrist. He shakes him off and turns with a snarl. “Get your hands off of me! I don't want you here.”

 

Phil flinches and steps back, his eyes never leaving Dan's face. “Dan. Dan, please listen to me! I never meant for this to happen. I swear to you-”

 

“You lied to me! You said you wouldn't hurt me and now...” he trailed off, unable to speak the words out loud. He raises his chin and looks directly into Phil's pain-filled eyes. “Go away. I don't want you here.”

 

“Dan, please let me explain!”

 

“No, Phil.” He steps back and turns the knob, crossing the threshold of his little cottage. “No.”

 

And with those words left hanging in the air, Dan closes the door and slides to the floor, covering his face with his hands as he weeps.

 

~

 

Phil stands at the door and listens to the muffled cries coming from inside, unable to tear himself away. He longs to go inside, to dry Dan's tears and beg for his forgiveness but Dan doesn't wish to see him now. He can feel the air backing up in his lungs and with a low, keening cry he spins away, striding down the path before taking himself to the privacy of his rooms.

 

He moves about the room in a daze before wandering over to his gardening table. He yearns for the comfort his plants bring him, longs for the simple task to quiet his grief-heavy mind. So he weeds and tends until his jagged breathing slows and his shaking hands calm and steady. Phil talks to them as he always does, spilling out his fear and pain to the only things he trusts with his secrets.

 

“I can repair this. I know I can... I-I just need to find the right tomes. There must be something written something about halting the effects of my magic,” he mutters, fingers caressing the fuzzy, dull green leaves of sage under his hand. The stirring of the air behind Phil has him stiffening in outraged anger that Mhartain should dare show his face here.

 

“What do you want? Have you come to gloat?” Phil asks bitterly. He hears Mhartain shift behind him, preparing to move closer. “Don't come any nearer to me,” he warns.

 

“He's just a mortal, Phil. A bit of nothing that you will forget after a time.”

 

Phil slams his hands down on the table in anger before whirling to face him. “I won't!” he shouts, eyes blazing with rage. “Don’t you understand? He is everything to me and you- you’ve ruined it with your gods cursed interference!”

 

His face crumbles now with pain. “Why, Mhartain? For decades I've been alone. Then he came to me and brought a measure of love and peace I didn’t realize I was yearning for. Now it's gone, and I’m alone once more. “

 

“Are you happy now, brother? Content to see me brought low once more?” Phil snarls before his shoulders slump, weary now as the fire of his anger burns out. “Get out, Mhartain.”

 

Mhartain's face is pale and drawn as confusion flickers across his face. “Phil…”

 

“Get out!”

 

He watches until Mhartain closes the door behind him before turning and with a wild sweep of his arm, dashes all of his beloved plants to the floor. He stares at them in dismay before dropping to his knees with a muffled cry, frantically trying to undo the damage he's wrought. His trembling hands repair broken crockery, tucking the tender roots underneath a fresh bed of soil as silent tears spilled down his cheeks.

 

He lets himself have this moment of despair, to let the gamut of emotions that fill his heart sweep through him in search of an outlet. He finds it in caring for his plants, whispering apologies as he heals each in its turn. When he's done at the table, he moves to his bookshelves, fingers running over the age-worn spines as he looks for something, anything, that may break the curse of a bonded Leanan Sidhe.

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Phil spends weeks poring over ancient grimoires and papyri, druid scrolls and Icelandic rune staves; all of his daylight hours given to his desperate search. His small personal library had held no answers, so he ransacked the Great Library, smuggling items back to his rooms where they lay in ever-growing piles. He finds no answers and as the days bleed past he grows desperate.

 

And every evening, when the day draws to its end and the sun begins to sink behind the horizon, he goes to Dan.

 

Dan still refuses to see him, indifferent to Phil's pleas for forgiveness. He had tried once more to apologize, to explain, but Dan had closed the door in his face before bolting it tight, though Phil would never attempt to enter without permission. He knows Dan has every right to be angry and upset with him, but he can't help but yearn to see him, to check on his well being. So night after night he sits quiet and still at Dan's garden table and listens, letting the music tell him what he needs to know.

 

Gone are the light and cheerful pieces Dan would play: frolicsome songs made up of sunshine and smiles, laughter and side glances that had once made Phil feel warm to the very marrow of his bones. Now Phil can do nothing more than sit alone in the night-shrouded garden and listen to despair set to song. He creates as he listens; garden stones etched by magic, miniature topiary carved in the shape of musical notes, glass terrariums filled with the tiny plants he loves so much. Phil leaves them behind when the morning comes, these gifts of apology for the man he longs for. He hopes that one day they will bring Dan joy.

 

The piano is heavy tonight. Like a summer storm with it's threatening clouds and angry sky, there's betrayal in every note Dan plays. They strike with the heat of a lightning bolt and bring tears to Phil’s eyes as his hands manipulate the dog-rose plant he'd chosen for tonight. The fragile petals of pale pink moves with his fingers as he gently creates the shape he desires; magic and skill combining as he delicately forms intertwining hearts out of flower and leaf.

 

He whispers to the flowers as he goes, blanketing each one with his magic. Words of protection and love mingle together in each blossom, painting the edges a shimmering gold as he casts. Engrossed in his work and desperate to make it perfect, he doesn't notice when the music stops. Oblivious to the opening of the cottage door, he only looks up when he hears the sound of his name.

 

~

 

Dan’s fingers feel heavy against the keys, slow and sluggish as he pours his heart into the music. He takes no pleasure in his skill or in the newfound ease of composing, though he dutifully writes them out. It now feels tainted somehow, knowing that Phil's magic could take as much as it gives. A heavy price, he thinks, for this borrowed brilliance.

 

He knows Phil is outside. He can feel the swell of his magic when he arrives each evening; an electric hum that burns beneath his skin and lights up his senses, it's a constant reminder of their bond. A bond that will kill him, if what Mhartain had said is to be trusted. 

 

He’d been too hurt and angry to let Phil speak after their evening by the lake, the feeling of betrayal swallowing him whole and leaving him deaf to Phil’s pleas. Looking into Phil’s face had been more than Dan could stand, so he’d hidden away in his little cottage ignoring Phil’s presence in his garden and refusing the gifts of apology left behind in the morning. 

 

The sight of the first carved stone Phil had left had actually enraged him, filling his body with furious energy as he plucked it from the garden table and flung it as far away from him as he possibly could, rejoicing at the way it soared through the air before falling into the tall meadow grass. He’s sure he looked like a crazy man, with his face red with anger and frozen in a fierce grimace while he panted in rage. He’s sure he looked far worse when he crept out later that night to comb through the grass on all fours, sweeping his hands back and forth until it was found, his fingers curling around the oddly warm stone as he clutched it to his chest.

 

As the days bled into weeks the heat of his anger had cooled into something different, the feelings of loss and fear weighing him down until he was exhausted by the extremes of emotions he was constantly battered by. His attempts to confront Phil and face the reality of this situation usually end with him frozen at the door, his hand clenching around the doorknob but unable to turn the handle and step outside. But tonight feels different so he lifts his hands from the piano, sliding off of the bench and crossing to the door. Giving himself no time to worry and no time to overthink, he flings open the door and steps over the threshold. 

 

Phil is standing at Dan's garden table, tenderly weaving leaf and magic together as he whispers to his plants under his breath. Silent tears slide down his cheeks and Dan watches as they drop onto the flowers below, each petal flashing with the bright blue light of Phil’s magic. His fingers never cease moving; weaving and tucking and nudging each twig and bloom into place, a symphony of garden magic. 

 

Dan stays silent and still. His fury and pain twist his stomach into knots, but he can’t deny the rush of softer emotions he still feels as he watches Phil’s face in the moonlight. He wants to hear the truth from Phil’s lips. He wants Phil to tell him that they can fix this situation they’re in. 

 

He wants to be held.

 

Careful not to startle Phil into ruining his planting, Dan clears his throat softly and waits but Phil’s completely engrossed in his work. He steps forward, but when Phil still doesn’t look up he calls his name softly.

 

“Phil.”

 

Phil’s hands fall still as he raises his head, turning slowly to Dan where he stands in the doorway. His face is pale in the flickering shadows. Dan can’t see his eyes from here, but he knows that they’re the color of heavy rain clouds, filled with the weight of his emotions. 

 

“Daniel...” A whisper of sound that barely moves his lips, Phil takes an aborted step forward before freezing in place as if terrified of frightening Dan away, his hands coming up to nervously grip an amulet that hangs from his neck. “Dan, I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I never meant to hurt you.”

 

Phil’s words make the knots in Dan’s stomach pull even tighter. 

 

“But you did,” Dan says quietly. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me, that what you took from me wouldn’t kill me. But that was all a lie, wasn’t it?”

 

The guilt-stricken expression on Phil’s face is all the answer Dan needs. He turns away and stares out over the starlit meadow. Like the heavy air before a raging thunderstorm breaks, he feels the weight of his emotions building, just waiting to break through his thin veneer of calm control. Dan wants to wail and throw himself to the ground in despair, he wants to rage and pound his fists against the earth- anything to ease the painful ache of his heart.

 

“Is that what you did to Cian?” Dan wonders aloud. Phil’s horrified gasp brings him a sick feeling of satisfaction and he turns around to face him once more.

 

Phil looks even paler as he shakes his head furiously. “No! I didn’t- ” 

 

But Dan presses on. He wants Phil to hurt, wants him to ache the way Dan aches so he lets the vicious words fall from his lips. “Did you drain him, Phil?”

 

“Dan, please…”

 

“Using Cian throughout the years to keep you and your magic strong-”

 

“Stop it! Stop, that’s not-” Phil chokes out.

 

But Dan doesn’t stop. “Did you let him think that your bond meant something as you took everything from him?”

 

“There was no bond!” Phil cries. “We were never bonded! It was just… it was just love.” 

 

Shock keeps Dan silent, unable to respond to Phil’s impassioned words. He feels the twin prongs of shame and jealousy stab at him, twisting in his gut as Phil swipes his hands over his eyes to hide the tears there. The sight of his trembling mouth and sad, grey eyes fill Dan with guilt and remorse, so much so that he feels like he’s being crushed beneath the weight of it.

 

“Oh fuck. Phil… Phil, I’m sorry."

 

~

 

Phil squares his shoulders and gathers the dregs of his control. He feels bruised; as battered by Dan’s accusations as if they were fists against flesh. Weeks of desperation and longing have left him emotionally fragile, and he fears that if one more callous word spills from Dan’s mouth, he might simply shatter like glass. 

 

Dan’s face is grave and remorseful, his eyes glassy and tear-filled as he stands beneath the night sky. He fidgets as the silence between them grows but doesn’t take his eyes off of Phil’s face. 

 

“Phil?” Dan’s voice is small. 

 

“That was- ,” The words come out rough and Phil has to clear his throat before he can continue. “That was cruel of you to use Cian against me in such a way. But I know that you are frightened and angry.”

 

He pauses to take a steadying breath before reaching out his hand. “Can we talk, Daniel? Will you let me explain everything?”

 

He barely breathes as he waits for Dan step forward, and when he takes Phil’s hand it feels like the weight of the worlds has fallen from his shoulders. He can’t help the rush of magic that swirls over their clasped hands and he lifts them to press a gentle kiss to the back of Dan’s knuckles.

 

“Thank you,” he says on a soft exhale. The relief that floods his body makes him weak, and he works to steady his voice. “Will you walk with me?” Phil asks. 

 

Dan nods and they turn as one toward the meadow, following the little path once more to the hidden lake at its heart. They walk silently, and Phil can't help the nervous glances he sends Dan's way. He knows Dan has every right to feel angry and afraid, but Phil is desperate for a chance to explain.

 

They stop walking when they arrive at the lake and stand quietly for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Phil watches Dan carefully and when he turns to face Phil, he’s ready to tell Dan all. But Dan speaks first.

 

“Before you say anything I want you to know that while I’m still upset with you, I never should have said that stuff about Cian. It was wrong and I’m sorry. I just-” Dan’s voice breaks before he can steady it. “I just wanted you to hurt too.”

 

“I am,” Phil says quietly. “It hurts me to know that I’ve caused you such pain. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

 

“What _is_ happening, Phil? I still don’t understand.”

 

Phil turns to look over the water, so dark and still. He thinks of the night they had spent here and of the joy he had found in holding Dan close. Closing his eyes, his calls upon his magic to stir the air and listens to the music the night holds. 

 

“There is magic in me, this you already know. I can stir the air and conjure anything you may wish for. I can create wonderful things of beauty and grace.” He pauses and opens his eyes. 

 

Dan is standing in a shaft of moonlight so bright he seems to glow, and Phil knows that he’ll never see a lovelier sight in all of his centuries of living. He wishes he could freeze time, that he could encase this moment in a silver bubble of moonbeams and midnight skies to gaze upon when the days feel weary and endless. But Dan is waiting and watching him with guarded eyes.

 

“And yet, I also carry within me magic that is a dangerous and deadly thing, the dark side of a golden coin. It is the death magic of the Unseelie.”

 

“Death magic,” Dan says faintly. He shivers as he takes an involuntary step back and Phil longs to follow, to sweep him up and promise Dan that he’ll always be safe. But he can’t. 

 

“I-I don’t understand! What does that mean? And what is an Unseelie?” Dan cried out.

 

“Let me try to explain,” Phil says. “The world of the Fae is divided by the High Courts of Faerie: Seelie and Unseelie. The courts of Summer and Spring rule over the Seelie Court and the Seelie fae are amicable and generally fond of mortals. Playful by nature, they like to cause mischief but they are not malicious.” 

 

“And the Unseelie?” Dan asks reluctantly. He looks as if he’s bracing himself to hear something horrible.

 

“The Unseelie Court is a dark, malevolent place ruled by the courts of Autumn and Winter. Vicious and often cruel, the Unseelie fae are often evil creatures who thrive on the misery and pain of others,” Phil confesses quietly. 

 

"And this is what you are, some evil being that likes to hurt people?" Dan scoffs and shakes his head in denial. "Phil, you're nothing like that!"

 

"Not any longer, no. But there was a time when I wasn't so careful and I took what was offered and cared little for the consequences," Phil explains. He's afraid to see condemnation on Dan's face, so he keeps his eyes on the glossy black surface of the lake. "I have been responsible for human suffering a-and death."

 

Dan's choked inhale lances through him as sharp as a blade. 

 

"You've killed people?" He chokes on the words, his eyes wide with shock and horror. 

 

Phil struggles to keep his eyes on Dan's. His hands flex helplessly as his magic builds, and he can tell by the panicked look on Dan's face that he can feel it too. Taking a deep breath, Phil dampens it until it's nothing more than a vibrant hum in his veins.

 

"Yes, Dan. My magic has taken mortal lives, and the knowledge of that fills me with shame and remorse."

 

"Death magic…" Dan whispers. 

 

"Yes."

 

"And that means what, exactly? For god's sake, just say it already!" Dan begs, his rising panic obvious in his shallow breaths and twisting hands. "Just tell me!"

 

"The bond between Leanan Sidhe and mortals is a perilous one. As your muse, I give you creative inspiration beyond anything you have ever known; the bright side of that gold coin. But if we are ever intimate, the death magic will wake, draining you until go mad… or die."

 

Dan stands stunned into silence. His lips are parted with shock and his face is drawn and pale. He shakes his head in denial and looks at Phil helplessly. "How could you do something so- so evil? How many lives were ended because of this cursed magic you wield? Fuck, Phil, how do you live with yourself?" he asks hysterically.

 

The accusation strikes with the strength of a hammer and Phil rocks beneath the blow. He closes his eyes and recalls faces from the past, each one committed to memory as penance for his crimes. It isn’t the multitudes that Dan fears but as Phil has learned over the past 150 years since Cian’s passing, each life was a precious gift. A gift that he had taken and the guilt of that knowledge is the stone he must carry for the rest of time. 

 

“There is nothing I could say to excuse the things from my past, nothing possible for me to do that could ever atone for my sins,” Phil says quietly. “All I can do is stand before you and tell you that the fae that I was is not the fae that I am now.”

 

The silence between them stretches until a horrified look crosses Dan’s face.

 

"That night at the lake when we…" Dan falters. "Oh. Oh god, you've killed me- " he whispers.

 

And Phil's heart simply shatters.

 

"No! Dan, no! Shhh, listen to me, _mo ghrá._  You are safe! The death magic is still silent," Phil pleads desperately. He longs to take Dan into his arms and let his magic soothe them both.

 

"But we… you touched me and - "

 

"I didn't spill," Phil interrupts quickly, his cheeks flushing at his own crudeness. "I didn't take my pleasure upon your body and so the magic remains dormant."

 

The silence that follows is heavy. Relief flickers over Dan's face followed swiftly by a look of dawning understanding. 

 

"That's why you wouldn't fuck me," he murmurs. “I thought… well, it doesn’t really matter what I thought.”

 

“What you think matters to me, Dan,” Phil says. He takes a hesitant step forward and waits, wanting to be closer to Dan but unwilling to cause him any further upset. “You matter to me. More than I ever thought possible.”

 

“Then why didn’t you tell me? If I matter that much to you, why did you keep the truth from me?”

 

Phil raises his hands helplessly. “When should I have told you, Dan? When we were strangers still and you were terrified of my very existence?”

 

Dan frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t try and play the victim here, Phil. You should have told me as soon as things began to change between us!” he says angrily.

 

“I’m not playing the victim! I know it was wrong. I know, and I’m sorry for the fear and the pain that I’ve caused you,” Phil cries, his arms falling heavily to his sides. “I never meant for this to happen, never expected to feel- ”

 

His voice trails away when Dan looks at him. He’s lovely, with a physical beauty that never fails to take Phil’s breath away. But it’s the fire and passion within him, the fierce perseverance and soul-deep gentleness of his spirit that Phil had fallen in love with. 

 

“Phil?” Dan asks quietly, drawing his attention. He’s no longer frowning, but Phil can’t read the expression on Dan’s face. “What- what do you feel?”

 

“Happy. Charmed. Amused and frustrated and endlessly fascinated by you,” he says with a helpless shrug. “When Cian died, I swore I would never let myself love again. But then there was you… and my heart lay at your feet before I could even stop the fall.”

 

Dan sucks in a breath and closes his eyes as if overwhelmed by Phil’s quiet confession. The ebb and flow of the lake lapping gently at the shoreline is the only sound to be heard now, the muted sound of tiny waves breaking against the sand creating a rhythmic pulse that calms and soothes. Phil matches his breathing to that pulse and waits.

 

“Y-you love me,” Dan says, his eyes still closed tight. “You love me and want to be with me?”

 

“Yes, Dan. I love you and want to be with you,” Phil affirms. 

 

“Even though I’m mortal?” he asks.

 

Phil smiles sadly, “Daniel _,_  I love you for everything you are.”

 

A sob spills from Dan’s mouth as his hands come up to muffle the sound. His cheeks are wet with tears, and he looks so fragile that Phil can’t help but go to him, crossing the space between them with hasty steps. He gathers Dan to him and feels tears of his own gather beneath the closed lids of his eyes when Dan tucks himself into Phil’s arms and rests his head on Phil’s shoulder. Dan’s curls tickle his nose, and Phil breathes in the sweet, familiar scent of his shampoo as he runs his hands over Dan’s back.

 

“I’m falling for you.” Dan lifts his head and meets Phil’s eyes. His voice is thick with tears still unshed and his chin wobbles before he steadies himself. “I’m falling for you, and I’m mortal and you’re not and we can’t even touch each other because- because…”

 

“Shhh, Dan. Breathe for me, won’t you, love? Everything will be alright, this I promise you.” Phil soothes, wiping the tears from Dan’s face with gentle fingers. “I will make this right. I won’t fail you.”

 

Dan gives a shuddery sigh as he rests his forehead against Phil’s. “What are you going to do?”

 

“I’m going to look for a way to be rid of the death magic within me. And I will not stop until I do,” Phil says. 

 

They stand together beneath the night sky, finding comfort in each other's arms. Phil clears his throat before asking hesitantly, “Dan, do you think you will be able to forgive me?”

 

Dan sniffs and wipes the remainder of his tears from his eyes. “All that magic and you’re still an idiot.”

 

“Is that a yes, Daniel?” he asks breathlessly.

 

“It's not easy for me to think about the things you've done," Dan admits softly. "I need time, I think, for that. But, yes, Phil. I forgive you.”

 

The magic bursts out of him in a joyful explosion, bringing the night to life around them. The wind stirs the grass and shakes the boughs of a nearby tree, the last remaining flowers falling from the branches to cover them in a gentle rain of petals. It makes Dan laugh and Phil thinks to himself that nothing could be better than watching Dan laugh in the moonlight, covered in tiny white flowers. 

 

But there something he’s missed these past weeks and he hums nervously, nearly too afraid to ask for it. 

 

"Dan? Will you play for me?"

 

Dan's face softens, and he holds out his hand to Phil, smiling when their fingers entwine. "Of course I will. Come on, Phil. Let's go home."

 

~*~*~*~*~*

 

Summer is fading into Fall and brings with it rainy days and cooler nights. Dan feeds a few bricks of peat into the fire, then tucks back up under a hand-knotted throw waiting for him on the sofa. He’s spent the better part of the afternoon here, reading while the rain falls and he sips his whiskey-splashed tea. He loses himself in the book, his head filled with the images of the heists and adventures laid out on the pages between his hands and he’s so engrossed in the story that he doesn’t notice when Phil enters the cottage in an excited rush.

 

“Daniel!” Phil cries triumphantly. “I’ve found it!”

 

Startled, Dan jumps. His book falls from his hands to land on the floor with a thud, and he clutches his chest where his heart thumps furiously. “Damn it, Phil! You scared the shit out of me. And you made me drop my book,” he complained.

 

Phil makes a distracted gesture and Dan watches the book rise from the floor to rest neatly on the end table. His half-hearted sigh at the interruption turns into a grin when Phil joins him on the sofa, his silvery-blue eyes sparkling with excitement as he grins back at Dan.

 

“Well? Are you going to tell me what it is you’ve found?” Dan asks with a laugh. 

 

“I’ve found the solution to everything! At last, I know what I have to do rid myself of the death magic!”

 

Phil looks so pleased with himself, nearly giddy with happiness and Dan can’t help the answering surge of excitement he feels in response. The future, their future, depends on whatever spell Phil may have discovered, and he suddenly feels breathless with anticipation.

 

“Phil! Tell me before I go mad,” Dan exclaims, shoving Phil lightly. “Spit it out already.”

 

“I’m going to become mortal!”

 

Dan blinks in surprise. He didn’t know such a thing could be possible and slow smile makes its way across his face, only to drop away when he’s struck by a sudden thought. “Wait, what? Phil… what will happen to your magic?”

 

“It will no longer be mine,” Phil says simply. 

 

He looks at Dan steadily, with no sign of hesitation or fear, and Dan can’t help but feel overwhelmed by everything Phil is willing to sacrifice for him. He reaches out for Phil’s hand and feels the spark of Phil’s magic, their bond magic, rush over him. 

 

“Phil, are you sure? I need you to be sure. I’m afraid you’ll resent me for it one day,” Dan frets, rubbing his thumb over Phil’s knuckles. 

 

Phil smiles and leans in for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet, and when it ends he pulls back to trace his fingertips over Dan’s face. “Silly mortal. Never will I resent you.”

 

The memory of similar words being spoken to him makes Dan smile with fond remembrance. He nuzzles into the warmth of Phil’s hand and asks, “What do you have to do? How does one become a mortal?”

 

Phil cups Dan’s cheek lightly before dropping his hand and taking Dan’s hands in his, folding his fingers around them in a firm grip. “First I must request an audience with our Queen. I am not an active member of our court, and it may take some convincing on my part to get her to agree. But never fear, I shall be very persuasive,” he says with a tiny smile. 

 

There’s something there, Dan thinks as he watches Phil’s face carefully. Something hiding beneath the smiles and forced confidence.

 

“And if she agrees, what then?” Dan asks.

 

Phil presses a kiss to the back of Dan’s hands before giving them a reassuring squeeze.

 

“Then I will have to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here](https://capriciouscrab.tumblr.com/post/187712888525/voice-on-the-wind-chapter-two-m-10k-a)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can like and reblog [here](https://capriciouscrab.tumblr.com/post/187712888525/voice-on-the-wind-chapter-two-m-10k-a)


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